


The Last Wood Elf

by L8Bleumr



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 262,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L8Bleumr/pseuds/L8Bleumr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*COMPLETE* When Mirkwood is destroyed, there is only one survivor, an elfling named Legolas. He is the last of his kind, the last wood elf. Eventually he is brought to Rohan where King Théoden takes him into his home and raises him along with his son, Théodred and his nephew Eomer. The boys develop a strong bond and swear their loyalty to one another. Although Legolas is brought up in a world of men, he longs to someday return to his home and, along with his adopted brothers, cleanse it of the evil malice that dwells there and rebuild the elven city, even if he is the last. *Warning* Not your typical Legolas story. Legolas’ history is strictly AU while the rest loosely follows book/movie verse (mind you I said loosely.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Burning of Mirkwood

Chapter 1 - The Burning of Mirkwood

 

“Sire!” yelled Elhadron, King Thranduil’s chief counselor. “The orcs have found a way across the river. They ride great horned beasts able to resist the enchantment of the waters as well as the rushing current. They have taken the main gate, killing our troops as they move along. They have also breeched the portcullis leading towards the cellars and are somehow able to travel against the outward flow of the underground river.”

“How is that possible?” Thranduil asked, flabbergasted by the devastating news. “The magic of the forest river should have been enough to stop them from crossing anywhere but the bridge. They should have all fallen under the spell and drowned, even these beasts you speak of.”

Elhadron stood next to his king in utter shock and dismay. “The spell has somehow been broken. There can be no other way. Dol Guldur has released every enemy upon our home and now they have crossed the threshold. They are in the palace as we speak. We must get you to safety, Sire, and your son too.”

Thranduil shook his head determinedly. “No Elhadron, I will not abandon my home or my people. I will stand with them and fight these savage creatures until my halls are cleansed of their filth.” As he spoke, he removed his crown of berries from his flaxen head and laid it upon the empty chair next to his throne, the place where his queen once sat by his side. Thranduil looked at his crown, remembering his wife, their love and then the devastating loss. “I am your king, but I am equal to the people of Mirkwood. My father did not hide from the enemy and neither shall I.”

“But we cannot risk losing you, our king,” Elhadron countered. “We are trapped here in the palace. Let us get away now and then you can join in the fight. We are not prepared.” A door opened from the side of the room and one of Thranduil’s servants came in carrying a small elfling boy. He was crying and asking for his father. Elhadron looked back at Thranduil and added. “Your son needs you.”

Thranduil had been preoccupied and hadn’t had a moment to think about Laiqalassë until now. He had been very protective of his young son wanting to give him as normal a life as was possible for one of royalty. Besides, the child would not understand the difference between a king and a father. Thranduil always made sure that he was never referred to as King or Majesty when his son was with him. He looked back to Elhadron. “Remember the rules counselor.”

Elhadron nodded and watched the maid hand Laiqalassë to his father. The king held his arms out to the small child. Laiqalassë was only five and did not understand what was happening, but he felt his father’s worry and fear. Now he buried his face into Thranduil’s chest, feeling the softness of his green robe as he nestled his cheek against it. Thranduil held his son tight against his breast and kissed his head.

Outside of the throne room, Elhadron could hear the sound of yells and grunts coming closer. The orcs were approaching the heart of the underground palace. “Please, they are near. We need to leave now,” he said calmly.

Thranduil ignored him and whispered in his son’s ear while rocking him. “You know that I am a warrior, yes?”

Laiqalassë nodded as he wiped his tears with the back of his small hand.

Thranduil continued. “I am needed now. You will have to stay with Elhadron, alright?” 

Again, Laiqalassë nodded without saying a word. Thranduil hugged him once more and whispered in his ear. “Whatever happens, know that I will always love you.” Then he handed his son to Elhadron.

Laiqalassë panicked. “No Ada, no,” he cried.

Thranduil forced himself to ignore his child’s pleas, no matter how brutally it tore at his heart to release him from his hold. To calm the boy, he kissed his forehead, giving Laiqalassë a sense of false hope that his father would not leave. Then the king turned his attention to Elhadron. “You must go now. Take Laiqalassë far from here. Leave Mirkwood and find safety. You must get as far from the forest as possible.”

“You cannot do this,” Elhadron demanded. “You must come with us. Laiqalassë is your son and heir.”

“And that is why you must go now,” Thranduil shouted, his voice booming in the large cavernous room.

At that exact moment, the doors to the throne room began to shake and rattle. The orcs were just on the other side. The sounds of elves dying mixed with the bloodthirsty cries of the creatures. Thranduil stood from his throne, picking up his long sword as he did. He unhooked the clasp of his green cape and tossed it to the floor, raised his weapon and waited for the door to open. One last time he looked over his shoulder to Elhadron and the counselor caught a glimpse of a tear in the king’s eyes. “Elhadron, go! Leave the palace. Leave the Rhovanion. Get my son to a safe place,” he demanded just as the doors shattered from their hinges.

Thranduil’s best guardsmen, who had been stationed outside the throne room, fought against the sea of orcs. He lifted his sword in front of him and with a primal yell, Thranduil charged the enemy, joining the last of his men. Elhadron’s mind was screaming for him to run to the escape tunnels, but his legs would not move. He held the small child in his arms and watched in horror as the elves fell to their deaths. Now the orcs were inside the throne room and approaching Thranduil. Finally, Elhadron’s feet caught up to his thoughts and he turned and ran to the wall behind the king’s throne. A tapestry of Thranduil’s father, King Oropher hid a secret door that led to a tunnel system and emptied out near the border. Elhadron looked back and found Thranduil with the two remaining guardsmen slashing orc necks. The counselor thought for a moment that they were actually overtaking the remaining orcs, but then another wave of rotted beasts swarmed in through the broken doors. Wasting no more time, Elhadron pulled the tapestry aside and pushed on the wall until he found the small entryway. The group of stones moved, producing the hidden door. Laiqalassë started to cry, asking for his father.

“It’s alright, little leaf. We have to go,” Elhadron calmly said.

“I want my ada to come too,” Laiqalassë begged.

The counselor did not want to lie to the child, but he didn’t want him in hysterics either. “He will be along shortly, but he wants us to go first and search the tunnel. You know how he is afraid of spiders? We must look for them and remove them.” As he distracted the boy, he crawled through the secret door, pushing Laiqalassë along in front of him.

“My ada is not scared of spiders,” declared the boy.

“Oh, not the big spiders like the ones in the woods. I’m talking about the little ones that live in the corners of the palace,” Elhadron explained. His plan was working. Laiqalassë stopped crying and was now more concerned about defending his father’s fear of spiders. “It’s spiders he’s afraid of isn’t it?”

“Ada isn’t scared of any spider, any size. He is a great warrior,” Laiqalassë said. As he spoke, Elhadron closed the secret door and pushed the child along further into the tunnel until the space widened and he could stand up. The tunnel was darker than midnight, but the elf knew there was a torch on the wall along with a piece of flint. He struck the flint against the stone wall, the sparks igniting the torch and soon they had light.

“That’s better,” Elhadron stated. He looked back to find the child standing with his head hanging, looking at the ground. “I’m sorry, my little prince. I am mistaken. He is not scared of spiders.”

Laiqalassë looked up and Elhadron with his big round eyes. “He is not coming is he?”

Elhadron bent on one knee and pulled the child to him. “I don’t know, little one, and we cannot wait for him, but he will know where we are. All we can do is hope that he will come along soon. Come now, let’s be on our way.”

They walked along the dark underground tunnel at a normal pace without saying a word. Elhadron knew what he saw just before going through the secret door. Thranduil would have perished by now. His heart was breaking not only for the loss of his great king and friend, but for Laiqalassë too. Someone so young should not have to grow up without his parents. It was at that moment that Elhadron decided he would raise the small prince. He would take him and escape the great Rhovanion forest, make a home somewhere and raise the elfling. If there were any hope of rebuilding a colony of wood elves, Laiqalassë would be their ruler. Once they were above ground again, Elhadron could assess the damage and gather the survivors. They would all leave Mirkwood and start over somewhere new.

“Snakes,” Laiqalassë said, breaking the silence.

“Snakes?” Elhadron questioned.

“Ada is afraid of snakes, not spiders.”

“Ai, that’s what it is, snakes. How silly of me to forget.”

* * *

As they moved along, Elhadron started thinking how all of this came to be and how Mirkwood was overthrown by Dol Guldur. This was not the first time the Elven king faced Sauron and his evil forces. It happened before, many years ago . . .

Thranduil fought against Sauron and his armies during the Battle of Daglorlad. He had seen Sauron destroyed when Isildur, son of the human King Elendil cut the One Ring from the Dark Lord’s finger. He had watched Elrond, elven lord of Imladris lead Isildur to the heart of Mount Doom where the ring should have been tossed into the molten pit of the mountain, sealing Sauron’s death. And Thranduil remembered the day he learned that Elrond failed to make Isildur follow through with that task, claiming the ring for himself as well as mankind. 

Eventually, Isildur was killed and the ring lost. The world fell silent for many years and the ring as well as Sauron diminished in many minds, but not Thranduil’s. He had felt that the Dark Lord would return again, and when he did, his sights would be set upon destroying the elves, which he loathed more than any other race in Middle-earth. Time and time again, Thranduil corresponded with Lady Galadriel, Elf Queen of Lothlorien, asking that she search for signs of Sauron or of the missing Ring of Power. His pleas went unanswered and so Thranduil reinforced his home in Northern Mirkwood and prepared for eventual war.

It was a well-known fact that Thranduil never completely trusted Lady Galadriel or Lothlorien. She was Noldor as well as most of the elves in the city of Caras Galadhon. Thranduil was King of the Sindarin elves and there had always been distrust between the two elf races. Galadriel had been amongst those responsible for the Kin Slayings of the First Age, when elves struck out and killed their own kind, something extremely forbidden in their culture. Galadriel separated herself from those who supported the travesty and made her way from the blessed realm of Valinor to Middle-earth where she eventually took up residence in Lothlorien. Thranduil knew the Noldor cared more for their own than others and was always suspicious of Galadriel, but when she hadn’t taken his concerns of Sauron into account, his faith in Lothlorien all but vanished.

Just as Thranduil had suspected, the Dark Lord Sauron reappeared after the long silence and took over Dol Guldur in Southern Mirkwood. He disguised himself as a sorcerer called the Necromancer and began building his armies. It went unnoticed until the wizard Gandalf decided to investigate. What he found was an army of orcs and other horrible creatures, slowly growing to an immense size. Gandalf went to Mirkwood, informing King Thranduil of the potential threat. Then he went to Lothlorien and told the Lady Galadriel of his discovery. A council was formed to discuss what steps needed to be taken in order to drive Sauron out, but with no attacks from Dol Guldur, the elves would not show force yet. In the meantime, Thranduil watched as his precious Mirkwood, known then as Greenwood, became darker as evil creatures bred and became numerous. The wood elves barricaded themselves in the Northern parts of Mirkwood while waiting for word from Lothlorien. Again, Thranduil sent letters explaining their situation, but without any outward threats from Dol Guldur, they would not strike first and Thranduil watched his realm shrink.

Finally, the decision came down from the White Counsel to march into Dol Guldur and once again face Sauron, but by this time it was too late. Somehow, Sauron got word of the meetings and increased the size of his armies. Knowing that the elves would come for him, he gave orders to march to Thranduil’s land and destroy all of the wood elves. He hoped that this would bring Lothlorien to the battle and that his armies would destroy the Noldor community, or at least make a sizeable dent in their numbers. However, Sauron himself did not lead his evil army. He used this battle with Mirkwood as a diversion and escaped to Mordor where he would further expand his power and his armies, this time influencing the race of Men such as Haradrim and Easterlings, desert dwellers who were easily persuaded with promises of wealth and power.

Lothlorien and Mirkwood fought against the orcs, but most fled back to Dol Guldur. Thranduil wanted to march with Lothlorien to the south and clear the last of the orcs out of his realm, but Galadriel ordered her soldiers to come home. The woods of Mirkwood had grown too dangerous, not with orcs, but with giant spiders and other creatures of the night. There were too many and it was too dangerous. Thranduil was furious and blamed Lothlorien for Sauron’s escape, saying that one of her Noldor elves must have been a spy for the Dark Lord. Galadriel told him if anyone could not be trusted, it was one of the wild wood elves. And so, the rift between Noldor and Sindarin elves widened.

All of this happened over a long expanse of years, but led to the present as the orcs invaded Thranduil’s palace yet again, leaving Elhadron and Laiqalassë to escape. The counselor now understood Thranduil’s deep distrust of the Noldor and Lothlorien. Had they acted when the Elven king first notified them of his concerns, maybe none of this would be happening now. It was too late though, and now the palace had been taken over, Thranduil slain along with the other wood elves. Elhadron’s only hope was to escape with the little prince, heir to the throne. The counselor felt as though the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders.

* * *

Eventually they made their way to the end of the tunnels, which emptied into a hidden cave. Elhadron knelt down to the boy’s level and spoke in calm and even tones. “I want you to stay right here while I go outside and examine the surroundings. I won’t be gone for very long. You will be safe here in this cave, but you must not cry or make any noise. Can you do that for me, little leaf?”

Laiqalassë nodded, though he looked frightened. “I can do that Elhadron.”

“You are so brave,” the counselor said smiling at the child. “You are just like your ada.” He patted Laiqalassë on his flaxen head and left the safety of the cave.

Outside, the air carried the stench of rotted orc flesh and smoke. There were other odors that Elhadron was afraid to imagine, but he knew burning flesh when he smelled it and the metallic scent of fresh spilled blood. Carefully, he climbed a small hill, keeping a watchful eye around him. When he made his way to the crest, he could see all of Mirkwood where Thranduil’s palace stood off in the distance. Tears fell from his eyes as he stared in disbelief at the sight that met him. Mirkwood burned, every tree, every last talan, and the hill beneath which Thranduil’s caverns lay. The flames reached to the top of the highest trees, black plumes of smoke rising even higher. It was complete devastation. Once at the bottom of the small hill, the counselor searched the area for elves, hoping to find some who might have escaped the burning in the distance, but there were none, only fallen bodies of elves dressed in green tunics and leggings, covered in blood. It seemed as though none survived. Elhadron and Laiqalassë were the last wood elves of Mirkwood. He wept for his home, for his people, his loved ones . . . and his king. “Gone,” he cried to himself. “They have all perished.” He balled up his fists, nails cutting into the fleshy palms as anger rose above grief. “And where was Lothlorien? How many times did my lord call upon them, telling them of his premonitions and they did nothing. Sauron yet lives because of the Noldor and now my home burns, my people die before me.”

Elhadron regained his composure. He had seen enough. There were none to save but Laiqalassë and he needed to get back to him. The counselor returned cautiously to the cave, finding the child right where he left him, only now he was curled up on the dirt floor, asleep. Elhadron decided they would stay in the cave a while longer. The orcs had done what they set out to do. Soon they would retreat and head south back to Dol Guldur. Until then, this would be his refuge. He had to think of Laiqalassë now and getting him somewhere safe. Thranduil had begged him to leave the forest all together and that was just what Elhadron meant to do, but it was too dangerous a task by himself. Travel would be slower with a young child to care for. He thought about his options and knew whom he must find.

There was a small colony of men that resided within the forest of Mirkwood, just west of the Enchanted River. Woodsmen, the elves called them. They were a peaceful people who chose to live amongst the trees rather than a city such as Laketown or Dale. These men lived off the land very much in the same way as the wood elves. They kept to themselves and had no dealings with outsiders, but perhaps they would help Elhadron get free of the forest. This was his only chance for escape, his only chance to protect the small prince.

“Prince,” Elhadron thought aloud. “The title alone will make the boy a target. Perhaps it is best that the child remains unaware of his lineage, at least until he is older. He is so young and Thranduil was very protective of him. He gave Laiqalassë as normal a life as he could.” It was true. Though Thranduil was king, he never wanted to influence Laiqalassë with his royal standing until the boy was old enough to understand it. He only wanted his son to know him as a father, not a king, not a ruler of an entire race of elves. The boy was never around to see people bow to Thranduil or call him Sire. “I mustn’t ever refer to him as prince again. I should have known better, for Thranduil never allowed it, but I had forgotten in all the confusion,” Elhadron said to himself. He looked down to the small shape lying on the ground. Laiqalassë sucked his thumb while the other hand twirled a strand of his hair. Elhadron sighed quietly as he watched. Thranduil used to hold the boy as he napped and he did the same thing, sucking on his thumb, except it was his father’s hair that he twirled. “Those who knew of the king’s son only knew of him by his pure name, Laiqalassë. That must change now, though it is not my place to give him a new name. I will only change its form then. It is settled. From here on out, you are Legolas, not Laiqalassë or Prince. When you are older, I will tell you the story of your fate and that of your parents, but for now, it is not important to our survival. We will wait a couple more days and set out to find the Woodsmen and then I’ll figure out where to go from there.”

Elhadron settled on the floor next to Legolas and picked the boy up, holding him in his arms. The small hand reached up for fistful of the counselor’s long yellow hair, never waking in the process. He was sure the child was traumatized from the day’s events. It would get no easier once Legolas awoke and asked for his ada. Elhadron would have to tell him the truth that his father perished. For now though, the little elfling was safe from reality, lost in a world of elven dreams.


	2. Woodsmen of the North

It was morning of the third day since the siege on Mirkwood and Elhadron decided that today they should leave their shelter. He had only gone far enough to find what little food was around the mouth of the cave, mostly berries and some edible leaves. Elhadron was thankful that he remembered these survival skills from his days training as a scout in his youth. With no weapons, all he could do was forage the forest for their nourishment. He would need meat though, to keep up his strength. He would need to find a weapon before starting out and that meant going over the hill to where the carnage was. There would be something there he could use, but he would need to take it from some of the dead. Again, Elhadron explained his reason for leaving Legolas alone and promised that they would soon find better food and shelter. The boy was in a state of shock and despair, saying nothing in return and staring across the cave with empty eyes. It was obvious that Legolas missed his father and had come to the assumption that Thranduil was not coming.

Elhadron patted the child’s head and left to find what he needed. He reached the top of the hill again as he had done when he first saw the city burning. Everything was charred black. Smoke rose from the piles of burnt debris where it still smoldered. Elhadron sighed and carefully went on.

The first bodies he came upon were burnt beyond recognition. Their bows would have turned to ash. No weapons and so the counselor moved on. He could feel the heat emanating from the smoldering ground through the soles of his boots. In the distance, three black plumes of smoke steadily rose into the dark sky. Beneath that mound was Thranduil’s palace. It must have been burning underground and the smoke was escaping from vents that allowed fresh air to fill the caverns. He would not be going back there for anything. What he needed he would find out here in the destroyed forest.

Finally, a weapon, he said to himself as he found a small dagger lying on the ground. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Elhadron had always been better with a bow. Swordplay was never his strongpoint, but the fires were so intense that any wooden weapons were completely destroyed. The dagger was good, but he wanted a sword and that would mean examining each body he came upon. It was difficult to look at the bodies without regarding their faces. He had to know who they were and would say a silent prayer for safe passage into Mandos’ Hall. The counselor realized that this was taking longer than he had planned and he was getting further away from the cave. He was beginning to feel uneasy about his decision, but what else was he to do?

Just as he made the decision to take the dagger and return, a flash of silver caught his eye. Thank Eru, a long sword, he said to himself and ran to the place where he saw it. Elhadron gasped as he recognized the dead face of the soldier, Sadron, a young ellon just recently accepted into the army. The counselor had given him his official weapon at the ceremony, a long sword. Elhadron shook his head. “Such a waste,” he murmured as he retrieved the sword from the dead man’s grip. “When I handed this to him, I never thought I would be taking it from his corpse.”

The elf said one last prayer over the fallen soldier and turned to go back to the cave. Suddenly, he heard a high-pitched scream coming from that direction. “Legolas!” he yelled and ran as fast as he could towards the hill. He stood at the edge and looked down to find a very large black hairy spider trying to get into the cave, but the opening was too small. The creature’s front legs were reaching into the mouth of the cave, trying to grab the child within. The more the spider writhed, the more rocks broke away and soon the opening would be large enough for the beast to enter.

“Ai, you worthless piece of filth!” Elhadron yelled to divert the spider’s attention. His plan worked and the creature abandoned the cave, scrambling up the hill towards the elf. He held the sword in front of him, ready when the spider got close. Just before reaching Elhadron, the black nightmare reared up on its ugly legs, exposing shiny white fangs. Its fat abdomen curled and thrust forward, shooting a string of webbing at Elhadron. The sticky substance covered his leg. The elf swung the sword at the string to release his bonds, but the spider jerked backwards and Elhadron’s leg pulled from beneath him, dropping him to the ground. He started rolling down the hill towards the spider, which was ready to catch its prey, an easier meal than the one in the cave. The elf managed to keep hold of the sword and as he was about to crash into the spider, he sunk the blade into the black flesh between the fangs. The creature let out a scream and flipped onto its back, legs flailing wildly as its miserable life left its body. When Elhadron was sure the beast was dead, he retrieved the sword, wiping the black pungent blood on the leaf littered ground and wiped the sweat from his brow. His long honey colored hair was now darkened with a mixture of dirt and spider blood. His tunic and leggings were torn and soiled, but there was nothing for it now.

“Legolas!” the elf yelled as he ran the rest of the way to the cave. He burst through the opening and found the boy cowering at the back, whimpering. “Legolas, I am here. It is alright now. The spider is dead.”

“I’m sorry Elhadron. The spider scared me and I yelled,” Legolas cried against the counselor’s chest.

“You did the right thing. I heard you scream and came as fast as I could. Now, we must go quickly. Where there is one, there will be others. Remember that, little one. They never travel alone,” Elhadron said, giving the boy his first lesson.

“Yes, Elhadron,” Legolas answered between heaving sighs.

“You know,” the elf started as an idea came to him. “We are very close, you and I. I was there the day you were born and I watched over you many a night when your father was busy. You are almost like my own kin. I know we are not blood related, but I would like it if you started calling me uncle.”

“I never had an uncle before,” Legolas stated. “I like that. Elhadron takes too long to say.”

The counselor laughed. “So it does for someone so small.”

“Is that why you call me Legolas now?” the boy asked noticing Elhadron did not call him by his proper name anymore.

“I guess so. Besides, Legolas is just as strong a name.”

From that moment on, the two had an understanding and Elhadron became known to Legolas as his uncle. The counselor was thinking in terms of when they came upon strangers. It would be easier for someone to believe they were related and too difficult to explain otherwise. This would definitely work to their advantage.

* * *

The pair traveled as quickly as they could, moving south towards the forest path. From there, the road would lead them west and towards the Enchanted River. Just beyond that, Elhadron hoped to find the colony of Woodsmen, if the orcs hadn’t invaded their home. If that were the case, the elf would have to come up with a new plan and with any luck, get out of the forest safely.

Legolas was walking alongside Elhadron, holding his hand when he tugged on the counselor’s slender fingers. The elf recognized this as the boy’s signal to pick him up and carry him so he stopped and reached for the child. Legolas’ arms encircled Elhadron’s neck, his little fingers intertwining together, and laid his golden head upon the elf’s shoulder.

“Why can’t we go home and find Ada?” Legolas asked with his small tired voice.

“I’m sorry, Legolas, but there is no home to return to,” Elhadron answered honestly.

“The monsters released Ada’s soul, didn’t they, just like they did with Nana,” the child stated. When Legolas was two, his mother was attacked and killed by orcs. 

Elhadron stopped walking and put Legolas back on the ground. He got down on his knees and brushed the child’s hair from his face. “It is time you know the truth, Legolas. Your father has gone from this world. His soul has departed and now sits with Mandos. He was a mighty warrior, just as you said and he died protecting you, his only son, the pride of his life.” Elhadron captured the boys chin in his fingers. “Ai, you look just like them both, your mother’s eyes and your father’s strong jaw. They were beautiful together and so in love. You, Legolas . . . you are the product of that love and everything special about your parents, they bestowed upon you the night they willed your soul to come forth and grow within your mother’s womb. I have no doubt that you will be just like them when you grow up. You will have a kind and loving heart like your mother and the fierceness of a great warrior soul like your father.”

Legolas looked at Elhadron with his brilliant blue eyes. “I want to be just like Ada. I will be brave and I will kill all the monsters so that they won’t hurt anyone else ever again.”

“That you will, Legolas . . . you truly will.”

* * *

They approached the Enchanted River after their long journey, tired and hungry despite the many times they stopped to rest. Elhadron had managed to kill a rabbit or two along the way. Legolas helped him find firewood and together they built a fire to roast their catch. Everything they did, Elhadron made sure to turn it into a lesson. A wood elf was never too young to learn. Legolas absorbed everything the counselor showed him.

They stood at the edge of the river and glanced across to the other side. “This is the Enchanted River, Legolas. Should you step into the water, you will fall into a deep sleep that you won’t wake from for three days. But should you fall asleep and drop into the river, you will drown.”

“How do we cross?” Legolas asked.

“Well, there should be a rowboat close by. It would be hidden from plain sight. Will you help me look for it?” Elhadron asked, making a game of it.

“Yes,” Legolas smiled excitedly. He put his hands on his hips and looked around the area. “Now where would a boat hide?” he contemplated.

“I am going to look around over here,” Elhadron called. “You stay where you are and don’t wander too close to the river.” He searched a group of bushes where he thought the boat would be.

Legolas stayed where he was, but there was a frog sitting on a fallen tree that drew his attention. It seemed to taunt the boy, its throat ballooning out and then shrinking back again, then it gave a loud croak. Legolas looked over to Elhadron who was busy searching beneath the bushes. Boys being boys, Legolas could not resist the need to capture the frog and he went to the log. Just when he thought he would catch it, the amphibian hopped away into another cluster of bushes, this one much thicker than the one that Elhadron searched, disappearing into the thick growing leaves. Legolas moved the branches aside and peeked into the dark space. Ribbit, ribbit, the frog beckoned.

“What are you doing in there, Mr. Frog?” Legolas called in his little voice. He got on his knees and crawled into the bushes a little further. He reached out with his hand to pick up the frog.

A low growl came from the back of the bushes. Legolas froze and slowly looked up. The branches separated to reveal the large brown head of a warg, its crooked fangs gleaming in an evil grin. Drool dripped from the corners of its mouth. The warg slowly moved towards Legolas. He froze a moment, not knowing what to do, then started crawling backwards out of the shrubs. The warg followed, prowling maniacally towards the elfling and growling. When the boy was clear of the plants, he got to his feet and backed away. Suddenly the head of the ugly wolf-like creature emerged from the leaves, then a foot and then the other foot. It stalked the boy, who kept backing away and getting dangerously close to the river.

From across the way, Elhadron called out, unaware of what was happening. “I win, Legolas. I found the--.” He looked over to see the wolf beast moving towards the little prince. The elf scrambled to find his sword without taking his eyes from the warg or Legolas. Suddenly the wolf lunged. At the same moment, Legolas fell backwards, slipping on a moss covered rock.

“Legolas!” Elhadron yelled, watching in horror and unable to do anything quick enough. 

When the boy fell, the warg misjudged the distance and leapt over the elfling, landing in the river. It struggled for only a moment and then slowly sank into the water. The spell had done its job, putting the warg to sleep. The beast would drown.

Elhadron ran to where Legolas lay on the muddy ground and picked him up. He frantically examined him from head to toe. The elfling had a scratch on his cheek that was bleeding slightly, nothing bad. The animal’s claw must have scratched him as he jumped over him.

“Are you alright, little leaf?” Elhadron asked desperately. Legolas nodded and rubbed the back of his head. “Does it hurt?” The elf asked. Tears welled up and spilled quickly down the child’s dirty face. “What were you doing in those bushes? Did I not tell you to stay put?”

“I . . . I’m . . . so-orr-ry, Uncle,” Legolas cried as his breath hitched.

This was the first time since they discussed their new names that the child called him uncle and Elhadron’s heart ached for the boy. He pulled him to his chest and held him tight. “I did not mean to get angry, Legolas. I’m sorry. I was just so frightened when that warg--.” Elhadron couldn’t speak anymore, his own tears running down his cheek. Legolas wrapped his little arms around the elf’s neck.

“I miss my ada,” the elfling cried. “I want to go home.”

“I miss him too, little one,” Elhadron answered. “But we can’t go back. We have to keep going.”

The child cried in Elhadron’s arms until he fell fast asleep. For a moment, the counselor thought Legolas had touched the water, but it was only fear, shock and exhaustion that affected the elfling. Elhadron picked Legolas up and cradled him in his arms as he walked to the boat. Carefully, he laid the child down and pulled the small boat out of the bushes sliding it to the edge of the river. He went back and picked him up, placing him in the boat ,then pushed it into the water. Elhadron jumped in and rowed across the river. Luckily, the waters were calm and it was not a difficult task. Once they were across, he removed Legolas from the boat, but didn’t pull the vessel from the river. There was no point now. There was nothing to go back to east of the Enchanted River. Now his only goal was to seek out the Woodsmen and find shelter for the two of them. Hopefully, all would be well.

* * *

Five days had passed since Elhadron and Legolas started their journey. The counselor had not much strength left. With nothing but a sword and a small dagger to hunt with, they had survived mostly on berries and other wild vegetation. The last animal the elf had killed was a snake, but unable to detect whether it was a forest animal or one of Sauron’s poisoned recruits, he decided it was best not to eat it. Legolas was his main concern and he gave any extra food to the small child. It was becoming difficult to travel with him. He wanted to be carried most of the time and Elhadron’s arms had all but given out. They must be getting close to the Woodsmen territory though. The forest in this area seemed cleansed of dead and fallen trees, a clear sign of inhabitants. Woodsmen lived off the land much like the elves, using resources from nature and trying not to destroy too many living things. They hunted for food, never for sport and they used wood from dead or dying trees to make their homes and especially their weapons. Woodsmen were expert bow makers as well as meticulous archers. Elhadron thought about this as they were approaching their realm. The men of the woods were quick to shoot, much more so than elves since their hearing and sight was not as sharp. The counselor hoped they would not be too quick to spend their arrows now.

As they walked along, a rustling in the trees above warned Elhadron to the presence of the Woodsmen. They were being watched. He was glad, but at the same time fearful for his life. The elf stopped walking and lowered Legolas to the ground. “Stay close,” he whispered and Legolas grasped the material of Elhadron’s leggings, clutching to his leg.

Very slowly, the counselor laid his shiny sword on the ground in front of him, shoving it away with his foot. Then he tossed the dagger, making himself vulnerable to the Woodsmen. He stood up tall placing his arms at his sides and a hand at the back of Legolas’ head, cradling him against his leg.

“We mean no harm,” he yelled out into the seemingly empty forest. “These are my only weapons.” He gestured to Legolas. “I have an elfling with me. We are only seeking help.”

There was a loud and heavy thump on the ground behind where they stood. One of the Woodsmen had jumped down from his tree and observed the pair. No words were spoken for a time and no one moved. Finally, Elhadron broke the silence. “Please, we have been traveling for five days now. The child is beyond exhaustion. He needs nourishment and rest. We come to you, knowing you are our closest allies.”

“How do we know you are not spies of the Dark Lord?” asked the man from behind them. “There are many in these woods and all are disguised. One was said to look like an old man, lost and in need of help. I would not put it past his evil mind to use a child such as you have with you.”

Elhadron answered in a strong and insistent voice. “I promise you that we are not lost nor are we spies. We came to you for help. Perhaps you have not heard what has happened to Mirkwood yet. Our home was attacked not quite a week ago. It has . . .” Elhadron paused and swallowed. “It has been destroyed.”

“Are there others?” the man asked as he walked cautiously around Elhadron to face him. “And what of your King?” The elf only shook his head.

The man approached Elhadron, one slow step after another, never dropping his sight. When he was close, he picked up the two weapons. He searched the elf’s face for any sign of deceit then he looked down to the boy. Big round blue eyes met the man’s dark brown ones before Legolas quickly buried his tiny face on Elhadron’s leg, frightened of the man.

The elfling had every right to be scared. Woodsmen were among some of the tallest and most muscular of all men. They were descendants of the Northmen of Rhovanion, a hearty race who were governed by no single lord. They had divided into many tribes, spreading throughout the lands. Beornings, Lake Men of Esgaroth, Bardings of Dale and most well-known, Eothéod — better known as Rohirrim— were all descendants of the Northmen. One thing they all had in common was their hate for Sauron. Through the ages, these men never faltered to the Dark Lord, which made them good allies of Mirkwood and Lothlórien. They were some of the most trustworthy people to live in Middle-earth.

The man in charge studied Legolas a moment, and then glanced back to Elhadron. “Is this your son?”

“No, my name is Elhadron. His father gave the boy to me to keep safe while he stayed behind and fought the enemy. I managed to escape through the hidden tunnels with the child. The city was burned, nothing left but charred remains of trees and homes. I did not find any survivors.”

The tall man regarded Elhadron a moment and when he seemed satisfied with the elf’s story, he dropped to one knee to address the elfling. Legolas felt the man’s attention on him and kept his face buried.

“What is your name, young one?” the Woodsman asked with his baritone voice.

Legolas peeked with one eye. The Woodsman was a giant compared to him. He had long shoulder length reddish blond hair and a long beard to match. Bushy red eyebrows sat above dark brown eyes that shown with kindness, but could turn to anger with the snap of a twig.

“M -- My name i -- is Legolas,” the elfling stuttered.

“That is a fine name,” the man replied. “Are you hungry, Legolas?”

“Yes sir,” the little elf answered quietly.

The man stood up again and Legolas watched, as he seemed to touch the sky with is red head. He turned towards the trees behind him and gave a very loud whistle. Suddenly, three other Woodsmen dropped down from the trees they were hiding in, each one armed with a full quiver and a bow. Legolas noticed that they were all dressed very much the same. They wore fur vests with no undershirt, bare muscular arms showing off their strength. Two men wore dark brown leggings and one had on green, like the leader. They all wore black leather boots that came up to the bottom of their knees. As they came together, they looked like a wall of fur and flesh, their legs looking like sturdy tree trunks anchored to the ground. Legolas didn’t know whether to be afraid of them or to feel safe in their presence. 

The man who spoke first looked to one of his companions and made a grunting sound, obviously understood by the others. Someone produced a shiny red apple and tossed it to the man. He caught it with one giant hand, fingers wrapping completely around the fruit, then turned to Legolas and handed it to him. The child reached out and took it, needing to hold it with two hands. “Thank you,” he said politely and began devouring it.

The Woodsman smiled, satisfied to see the boy eating and brought his attention back to Elhadron. “I am Folvar. These are my men, Hafdan, Kular and Torlek. We patrol this area of our land and spotted you a while back. I believe your story, for we came upon a small group of orcs a few nights ago, about the time you say Mirkwood was attacked. Evil in the forest has grown wide in recent days and we have been on full alert. If what you say is true, about Mirkwood being destroyed, then this is devastating news.”

“I’m afraid it is true, Folvar. My only concern for now is the child. His father entrusted him to me and I mean to respect his last wishes by taking him far from here. Our home is gone and it is up to me now, to see that he is raised properly. We may very well be the last of our wood elven kin and if so, the boy may be our only hope.”

“You speak as though he is of great importance,” Folvar stated curiously.

“Uh, well--.” Elhadron looked down at Legolas who was in deep concentration over his apple.

Folvar noticed the elf’s hesitation and called out. “Hafdan, come take the boy and give us a moment to speak privately.”

Hafdan was the same height and build as the others, but his hair was more yellow than red. The fur vest he wore was black like that of a bear and his arms seemed slightly leaner than Folvar’s arms. At a closer look, even with all the yellow facial hair, Elhadron could see that he was a bit younger than the other men. He approached the travelers and held a hand out to Legolas. “Come with me and I’ll show you were there are more apples.” His voice was quiet and sympathetic for someone so large and burly.

Legolas did not move, but looked up at Elhadron first. The elf smiled. “It is alright, Legolas. They are friends.” Legolas did as he was told, but would not look at Hafdan. He was still unsure of these men and rather shy around them.

With the child removed, Folvar and Elhadron spoke freely. “As I said, his father left him in my care. The boy is . . . he is the last wood elf, besides myself. I was the King’s chief counselor. We were in the throne room when the orcs invaded. Somehow, they compromised the river and its enchantment, making their way into the palace at different points along the river. There were too many and Mirkwood was taken over. I begged Thranduil to leave, but he stayed and fought off the enemy, giving me a chance to escape through the hidden tunnels, taking the boy with me. Just before we disappeared, I saw the orcs swarm the King.” Elhadron paused as the vision of Thranduil filled his mind. He regained his composure and continued. “We have been traveling for days now, fighting off spiders and wargs. The father’s last wish was for me to get his son as far from the Rhovanion as possible. He knew it was Legolas’ only hope for survival. Now I see it as our only hope to rebuild the wood elven colony.”

Folvar put his hand to his beard, playing with the coarse hairs as he thought about his choice. “Ever has King Thranduil been a great friend and ally to the Woodsmen of the north. When we have called upon Mirkwood for help, they have always responded. My heart breaks to hear this news and it is out of respect for the King that we accept you and Legolas into our colony.” He crossed his arms and spread his massive legs apart in a more relaxed stance. “However, I think travel through the forest would be folly at this time. There are too many assassins hiding in the dark recesses. In order to see you safely to the edge of the woods, it would take a decent amount of my men to accompany you. Unfortunately, half of them have been sent south to join Lothlórien in a siege upon Dol Guldur. I have not the men to spare and still be able to protect my own borders.”

Anger rose within Elhadron. “Lothlórien marches to Dol Guldur, you say?” His hands balled into tight fists. “That is just like the Noldor, always acting when it is too late.”

“Of what do you speak?” Folvar asked.

“Mirkwood has known of the filth that pours from the rotten mouth of Dol Guldur. We have called upon Lothlórien repeatedly, asking them to go in and access that land, but they refused saying that without good cause there was no point aggravating a hornet’s nest. Meanwhile, Mirkwood filled with spiders and other evil creatures, all working for the Dark Lord. Yet Lórien remains well protected in their Golden Woods. Sauron would not step foot into Lady Galadriel’s realm. He fears her since she is one of the ring bearers. Mirkwood had no such advantage and now it is destroyed. It took an attack upon our home and the killing of a race to bring those pretentious Noldor out from the protection of their woods . . . and my King is dead!” This last part Elhadron spat through clenched teeth.

Folvar was taken aback. He had not been aware of the rift between Lothlórien and Mirkwood, but he could see the hate and anger within Elhadron’s eyes. He laid a sturdy hand on the elf’s shoulder. “Come, let us get back to our city. The sun will be setting soon, and this is the last place you want to be when the night creatures slither from their holes.”

Elhadron sighed deep, shaking these feelings from his shoulders. “Thank you, Folvar, for taking us in. I am forever in your debt.”

“You will stay with us until we can come up with a plan,” Folvar answered and they all made their way to the Woodsmen city.


	3. Nightmares

 

As the company approached the city of the Woodsmen, Legolas looked on in amazement. Above him, as far as his eyes could see, were houses built within the tops of the trees. They looked just like huts one might see in a man village, but they were up high, far from the ground. Wooden houses, with doors and windows, thatched roofs and even chimneys. It seemed like the trees popped from the ground beneath and as they grew, they raised the huts along with them. The houses were connected to the others with a series of wooden plank rope bridges, truly a city in the trees. Something else caught the elfling’s attention. Between the ground and the bottom of the houses, the trees were stripped of their branches. There was no seeable way up.

“How do they get up there, Uncle?” Legolas asked, stretching his neck as he looked above.

One of the Woodsmen heard Legolas. Kular smiled wide and glanced down at the elfling. “Why, we spread our wings and fly like the eagles.” The look Legolas gave him was priceless as the boys mouth dropped and his eyes widened. Kular laughed, unable to play along with his own joke. “No, I am only jesting, little one, but I’ll show you how we do it.” Kular looked up into the tree, touched his forefinger to his thumb and put them in his mouth. Then he blew and gave a loud but short whistle. Instantly, a rope ladder unraveled as it fell over the edge of the hut, stopping just before it touched the ground.

Legolas giggled. “That is very smart.”

* * *

The Woodsmen got Elhadron and Legolas settled in their own small hut after quickly cleaning out and furnishing the abandoned house. The women of the village brought some children’s clothes and gave them to Legolas. They also gave Elhadron a few things from the men’s wardrobe. A hearty meal of stew and bread was served up for the visitors, who ate their fill. When they were satisfied, Elhadron took a very sleepy Legolas to their hut and laid him down on the hay stuffed mattress. He slipped tiny boots from the elfling’s feet and covered him with a fur throw. “Sleep now, Little Leaf. We are safe here, with these men. Nothing can harm you now.”

Legolas nuzzled his cheek against the fur and sighed deeply as he drifted off into elvish dreams.

Meanwhile, Elhadron met with the men and discussed plans for their future. One of the huts was arranged as a dining hall with long wooden tables and benches. It could easily be turned into a meeting hall for such occasions. Then there were times such as now, when it was used as a gathering place where the men sat and talked, while their wives were home, taking care of the children, and tucking them into their beds for the night. 

Elhadron entered the doorway and found the men he’d met earlier sitting on barrels around a metal fire pit, the embers of a log glowing and giving off heat. Folvar looked up and motioned for Elhadron to join them. The elf walked over and Torlek gave him the barrel he had been sitting on. Elhadron tried to refuse, but Torlek would not hear of it. He laughed with the same deep voice that all of these burly men seemed to have. “I don’t mind sitting on the floor. Besides, that’s where my wife tells me I belong anyways.” He stuck his tongue out in a comical way, made panting sounds and barked.

Folvar reached down and ruffled Torlek’s hair. “Be a good boy now, and don’t harass our company.” Hafdan and Kular laughed heartily.

Elhadron smiled and laughed while observing the men as they chaffed one another. Folvar seemed to be in command, although if you asked him, he would say that the Woodsmen had no chieftain, but rather they acted as a whole. He was the tallest among them, but not by much. What made him stand out above the others was his shoulder length reddish blonde hair. None of the other Woodsmen or their wives had hair that color. He was a man of about thirty years, very muscular and fit with a strong demeanor. He was the first to speak most of the time and the others often agreed with what he had to say. Elhadron had to laugh to himself. Like it or not, Folvar was a leader.

Torlek was the oldest of the group, probably in his mid-forties, Elhadron guessed. He had long sandy brown hair that he kept tied back with a piece of leather. His beard was the same shade of brown, but with a touch of grey mixed in. He was quiet most of the time, but always ready to respond whenever called upon. He had visible scars on his arms and one very prominent scar upon his right cheek, which ran from his temple to the corner of his mouth. The skin around his right eye looked as if it had been burned, smooth and shiny. It was slightly disfigured, but it still seemed useful.

Kular and Hafdan were brothers, each with blond hair that hung down to the top of their shoulders. They looked very much alike even though Hafdan was eight years Kular’s senior. Kular was the youngest, just reaching twenty. He kept the humor of the group, always telling a joke or sharing stories of his older brother’s mishaps. Hafdan often answered Kular with a punch in the arm, but it would not stop his younger brother’s jaw from flapping. Both had blue eyes and were rather handsome men. Neither was married, though Hafdan was courting a young woman in the village. A wedding would soon be arranged. Kular, however, was more of a free spirit. He always had a buzz of maidens gathered around him in social settings. He seemed to enjoy the attention and usually chose one lucky girl to take for a stroll with by the end of the evening.

“What about you, Elhadron,” Folvar asked, “Have you any family?”

“My parents and my brother sailed many, many years earlier,” answered the elf, “And I never married. My work as chief counselor was very time consuming.”

Folvar continued, “I myself am married, but we have no children. Torlek, as you heard has a wife and two grown daughters--.”

“Which he keeps a very close eye on,” Kular added.

“Especially from the likes of you, ye rascal,” Torlek answered.

Folvar laughed and then went on, “Kular, as you might have guessed, is spouseless.”

Kular interrupted, “Unattached, unwed, and uncoupled.”

Hafdan, his older brother broke in nex,. “Unrestrained is more like it.”

“You are just jealous, Brother, that I should be free while you are tied down to one companion,” Kular answered.

“And she is more than enough woman to keep me satisfied, you young cad,” Hafdan protested.

The men all laughed and Folvar pulled a wooden pipe from a hidden pocket beneath his fur vest. The other men followed suit and brought out their own smoking pieces. Torlek reached for a pouch lying on the ground next to him. He opened it and took a pinch of pipe weed, stuffing in into the carefully carved barrel. He passed the pouch around and the men all filled their pipes, lighting them and puffing away. Folvar looked over to Elhadron. “Do you smoke, my friend?”

“Not since my youth,” he answered.

Torlek reached into his grey fur vest and pulled out an extra pipe and a pouch, “No better time to start again, if you care to.”

The elf took the offering. He stuffed the pipe, lit it and then puffed. Instantly he started coughing as the smoke made his lungs burn. The men chuckled at the sight of an elf unable to manage a smoke. Torlek patted him on the back and Elhadron glanced up at him. “Thanks,” he said between gasping breaths.

“I guess there is something to be said about Woodsmen and wood elves. We can hold our smoke as well as they can hold their liquor,” Torlek chaffed, “Now, that there Dorwinion wine is some of the finest poison I have ever tasted, but after just one glass of the stuff, damned if I can remember my own name. But the elves … why, they drink it as if it is water, and can walk a straight line afterwards.”

Elhadron laughed, “We have had long years to become immune to its bite.”

After a while, and feeling comfortable in each other’s company, Folvar thought it was best to discuss their plans. “So Elhadron, where is it that you’d be taking the lad and yourself once you are free of the forest?”

The elf hung his head, trying to think but realized that he hadn’t had time to come up with a destination. “Honestly, I do not know. My only concern is for the elfling, and following his father’s wishes will come along once it is safe to travel.”

“You are welcome to stay here as long as you see fit, Elhadron,” Folvar offered. The room became silent, only the crackling fire making sound, and the men glanced at each other as if they all pondered the same questions. Then Folvar spoke again when he saw that no one else would. “The boy calls you uncle, but you said your brother sailed long ago.”

“Oh yes,” Elhadron answered right away, “Well, I was very close to his father, and I was there the day Legolas was born. The child’s mother perished when he was only two, and I promised to always be there to help, since the boy’s father was called away from time to time. He was a warrior, you see and when he went off to fight, Legolas was left in my care. Now we only have each other, it seems.”

The door of the hall opened and a girl walked in, a bit of panic in her voice. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the elf child calls for his father. I think he is having a bad dream.”

Elhadron handed his pipe to Hafdan, who was sitting next to him and ran from the hall, following the girl back to his hut. The door was open and he went in, finding a woman cradling Legolas as he whimpered against her breast. She was rocking him in her arms and singing softly, but the child was clearly upset. Elhadron rushed to her side and she handed Legolas to his caretaker.

“Shush now, Little Leaf. I am here. I am here now.”

Legolas buried his face in Elhadron’s shoulder, “Where were you, Elhadron?” He was very upset at his foster uncle.

“I wasn’t far. I was speaking with the men who found us. You see, it did not take me long to get to you,” he said soothingly.

The woman, who had been holding Legolas patted him on the head, smiled and left the hut, taking the young girl with her. Elhadron figured she must be the woman’s daughter and was sent to fetch him. When they were alone and Legolas had calmed, he pulled the boy from his shoulder and sat him on his lap where he could see his face. “Do you want to tell me about your dream?”

“No,” Legolas insisted, “I don’t want to think about it again.”

“It is fine. We won’t speak of it any more, if that will make you feel better.” Elhadron lowered Legolas back to the mattress and stood. The elfling sprang up, clutching to the counselor’s leg.

“You are not leaving are you?” The child’s voice was full of fear. He did not want to be left alone again.

“I am going nowhere. Actually, I am quite tired, and I think I will go to sleep now.” He tucked the sheets around Legolas, making a cocoon around his small body. Then he stripped off his belt, boots and jerkin, and crawled into his own bed. Elhadron closed his eyes and tried to fall into reverie, when he felt a tug on his arm. He looked to the side to see Legolas standing in an oversized shirt that someone had given to him for nightclothes.

“Can I sleep with you, Uncle?” Legolas asked.

Elhadron smiled and lifted up the sheet. Legolas climbed in and snuggled up to him. One hand went to his mouth so he could suck on his thumb while the other hand went to Elhadron’s long, wheat colored hair. Tiny fingers twirled the elf’s blond locks, as Legolas fell back to sleep.

* * *

The next day, Legolas rose early and happy as if he had no bad dreams at all. They dressed and went to the same building where the men gathered the night before. The tables were full of villagers who had come for breakfast. Servants spooned piping hot porridge into their bowls and everyone ate heartily. Elhadron and Legolas took a seat at an empty table and were served immediately.

Legolas stared into his bowl then looked up at Elhadron, who had already started eating his breakfast. The elfling scrunched his face. “What is it?”

“It is called porridge. Try it, Legolas. It is very tasty, especially if you put this on it.” As he spoke, he drizzled honey from a small crock sitting on the table onto the steaming oats.

Legolas still stared into the bowl with his nose upturned. “I do not think elves eat this.”

“Of course they do. Now eat up,” Elhadron insisted.

Legolas stuck his wooden spoon into the dish and released it, noticing how the spoon stayed right where he put it. As he played with his food, Kular joined them at the table, the younger of the two brothers. He watched Legolas a moment and smiled.

“You know, when I was your age, I wouldn’t eat the stuff either, but my mother told me if I wanted to grow tall and strong like my brother, then I had better eat it.” Kular stuck his arm out to the side, curling it at the elbow and made a fist. Legolas watched as his bicep rose beneath his skin.

“Wow,” Legolas said with amazement.

“You think that is something, watch this,” Kular added. He turned around and called to his brother, “Aye, Hafdan, toss me one of those there walnuts.”

His brother reached into a bowl and produced the nut, throwing it underhand across to the next table where Kular sat. He relaxed his arm and put the walnut where the bicep had just been. Then he closed his arm, holding the nut within. He made another fist and squeezed all of his muscles, his face turning red as he grunted. Then there was a crack and he stopped. When he opened his arm, the walnut was split open. He grabbed it with his hand before it fell, and put in on the table next to Legolas. “See there, that is what happens when you eat your porridge.”

Not wasting another moment, Legolas grabbed the spoon and started slurping down his food. Elhadron chuckled quietly and Kular smiled, both satisfied that the boy was eating. “Did your father teach you that trick?” the elf asked.

“Na, it was my ma that showed me. She had arms like a warhorse’s leg. I didn’t dare cross her, though. She’d do the same thing only with my head instead of the walnut,” Kular teased.

Legolas giggled and kept eating until his bowl was empty. Then he looked at Kular. “I will be strong when I grow up too. And when I am, I will kill all the monsters so they can’t hurt me anymore.” Feeling like he said too much, Legolas sunk down on his bench and nuzzled into Elhadron’s side. Kular nodded, seeing that the elf should take the time to talk with Legolas and left.

Elhadron whispered into the boy’s ear, “Legolas, did you dream about them last night? Is that why you were crying?” With his face still buried, the elfling nodded. “It is alright now. There are no monsters here. The Woodsmen will help me keep you safe.”

Legolas looked up at Elhadron. “But they took ada and he was the strongest of all the elves.”

Curious, Elhadron asked, “What did you see, Legolas?”

The boy twiddled his fingers, looking down at his lap before he answered, “Ada stuck some of them with his sword, but then they surrounded him. They pushed him and he fell. He lost his sword and then . . . and then the monsters . . . they . . . they--,” Legolas’ lip quivered as he tried to tell his story, but he could not finish, tears streaking his face.

Elhadron gathered him in his arms. He had no idea that Legolas saw anything that night. He had tried to shield him from the sight of the attack. The counselor had seen almost the same thing as Legolas did, but he had turned and had run for the secret tunnel. Ah, that must have been it. As he went to the tunnel, Legolas was clinging to his neck and watched it all play out over Elhadron’s shoulder. He should never have let that happen. He should have shielded the boy’s eyes, but in the confusion, all the elf had thought of was escape. “I’m so sorry Legolas. You should not have had to witness that. And that is what you dreamt about?”

“Yes, only the monsters come after us next, and they grab my legs and try to pull me away from you. They smell like dead things and they have large claws . . . and they grab me and my legs bleed,” he cried.

Elhadron kissed the top of the child’s platinum head. “You know they cannot get you here. The orcs cannot climb the Woodmen’s trees. Besides, there are guards out looking for them. and they will stop them before they could ever get close to us. We must trust these men now.”

“But you talk of leaving, and I’m afraid to go into the forest again. More spiders and more wolves are hiding in the bushes and they will get me,” Legolas said worriedly.

“Then we will not leave this village. We do not have to do anything we do not want to do. And I feel safe here. I’ll tell you what, Little Leaf, perhaps we will stay a while. Would you like that?”

With tears still pooling in his blue eyes, Legolas nodded. “Yes, I want to stay here.”

“Then fear no more. We will stay a while,” Elhadron assured him.

Later in the day, Elhadron spoke with Folvar, accepting the chieftain’s offer of temporary residence in the village. How long they would stay was uncertain, but he agreed that this was the safest solution for the time being. Actually, it was quite a gift for Legolas to be able to live in the tree village for a while. He would get to experience something that most of his kin had not, living amongst the trees and off the land. The Mirkwood elves had dwelled under the hills for a millennia it seemed. It would be good for Legolas to get back to the roots of the wild wood elves, from when the land was still known as the Great Greenwood, before evil came. Elhadron would see to it that Legolas knew and understood the importance of his heritage. Here was as good a place as any to raise the young elfling. Eventually, they would be on their way, but for now, this just seemed like home.


	4. Guidance

When Elhadron told Legolas that they would stay with the Woodsmen for a while, he did not expect it to be more than a month or two, just until it was safe to travel. It was now close to five years since the two had settled in the village, but they were very content.

This certainly hadn’t been a part of Elhadron’s plan, nor did it follow Thranduil’s last wish to see Legolas out of the Rhovanion. However, the forests had become much too dangerous for travel. Even with reports of the Lothlórien army desecrating Dol Guldur and leaving it for ruin, evil still thrived in the vast woods. Creatures multiplied at an alarming rate, and Elhadron knew this was due to the destruction of Mirkwood. Spiders now dwelt in the treetops where the elves had once claimed it as their own. Lothlórien barricaded themselves within their golden woods, and allowed Sauron’s filth to spawn in profusion.

* * *

Elhadron spoke to the Woodsmen often about his dislike for the Noldorin elves, especially when the village ale was in abundance. He made Folvar swear that if anything were to happen to him, they would not take Legolas to Lothlórien.

“The boy was raised on the beliefs and freedoms of the wood elves. Let there be no mistake of the difference between the two races. They would corrupt his young mind, and have him believing Valinor was the only true elven realm. We do not feel this way. Middle-earth has been home to Silvan folk for many millennia. Our ancestors chose this world as their home without shame, unlike the Noldor. They see this world as their punishment, spending their time longing to return to the Undying Lands. Such teachings would extinguish a wood elf’s coveting for this land. Our hearts and souls yearn for this earth. Now that Mirkwood is gone, who but the child is left to uphold these beliefs? He should know what every Silvan has experienced while calling Middle-earth home … peace and contentment, not penance.” Elhadron made this argument many times until the Woodsmen understood his meaning, and swore to abide by the counselor’s wishes, should the worst happen. “I would see him raised by men before allowing the Noldor to force their convictions upon him.”

Coming to the Woodsmen village was the best thing to happen to Elhadron and Legolas. They fit in quite well, and were accepted as part of the community, especially Legolas. The men seemed quite taken with the elfling. Perhaps it was because the youth had lost his father so early in life, or Elhadron’s determination to see him raised with proper training. Whatever their reasons, the men of the village assumed some of Legolas’ teachings. Kular and Hafdan took it upon themselves to begin Legolas’ training in weaponry. They handcrafted a child’s bow and a wooden practice sword, and started daily lessons not long after.

Legolas was thrilled. As young as he was, he had the makings of a warrior. Kular told him often that he could see the flames of a fighter within his blue eyes. “That right there is part of your pa’s soul that he gifted to you. Feel it, hold on to it, and never forget where you come from,” Hafdan would tell him.

At the age of ten, Legolas was ahead in his abilities. Elhadron told the men that an elfling would have been trained differently at such an early age, slower; however, this was a different situation. Legolas was enthusiastic and a quick learner, every bit the son of a strong fighter.

It was important that Elhadron made sure the elfling knew about his father. The counselor spoke of Thranduil often, though he never used his name or the fact that he was a ruler. He would sit and tell tales of his father’s youth, of how he became a great archer, and of how he captured the heart of Legolas’ mother. The boy absorbed everything Elhadron told him, drawing up images in his mind.

He also gave Legolas daily lessons in elf culture; the Valar, the legends that walked the earth before them, background and histories of Valinor, Mirkwood, Rivendell, Lothlórien and many other important points about elf culture. He should know all there was about the elves, since there was no one else to teach him. The men could train him in weapons and that was fine. Elhadron hadn’t had much practice since he took up employment in the King’s court, and the Woodsmen were well educated in the art of fighting and techniques.

Elhadron had done his best to take care of Legolas, but there were times when only a woman’s attention would help. The young elf would do much better to have a mother figure. Legolas had never known his mother, though at times he remembered hearing a woman’s sweet voice singing to him. Elhadron could do his best to give Legolas the attention and advice of a father, but not that of a mother. Still, there was one village woman who he was sure could help.

* * *

Sefa was one of the village women and the wife of Folvar. She was about her husband’s age, in her late thirties. She had bronze colored hair that ended just below her shoulders, usually tied back loosely. The signs of age had just begun to show in the form of light creases at the outer corners of her brown eyes. She had the kindest most understanding smile that could calm even the wildest stallion. She had been there on the first night that Elhadron and Legolas entered the camp, and she held Legolas while he cried after having the awful nightmare. Something drew her to the elf child, and she took it upon herself to become one of his teachers as well. Sefa decided she should be there for the parts that the men and Elhadron might have left out.

Legolas would probably be on his own someday. He should know how to take care of himself, to cook a meal or to stitch a torn sleeve. In the village, the men depended on the women to do these tasks, thinking nothing of it, but Legolas, being the last of his kind, might find himself alone someday, without the help of a woman. He needed to know as much as possible, so she taught him about herbs for cooking and healing, the basics of sewing, proper cleaning, and other small things that would help him with everyday chores. She also taught him to read Westron, knowing that it would come in handy. It was likely that he would have dealings with many of the different races of Middle-earth, depending on what his future held. Reading the common language was just as important as knowing how to speak it. Besides, she enjoyed the moments she spent with the elf child. Sefa and Folvar had no children of their own, though they tried desperately to conceive. They finally accepted the fact that it just wasn’t written into the stars, that they should have their own family. The villagers became their family instead and they were contempt. Now, having Legolas to shape and take care of, she had a new purpose and did it with great pride. 

For an elf of only ten, Legolas’ education was quite advanced, and he soaked up every morsel of information. The brothers, Kular and Hafdan worked with him on his archery, and after a few months, his speed was most impressive, though his aim still needed a lot of practice.

Torlek taught Legolas how to forge different weapons and some animal traps from the natural materials found in the forest. In the event that he did not have his bow with him, there was always something handy on the forest floor that he could use in self-defense. Torlek gave Legolas a small knife to keep with him at all times, and taught him how to turn an ordinary branch into a quick spear. It may not kill an enemy, but it would wound one well enough, allowing the elfling to get away. He also showed him how and where to build a fire, as well as other basic survival skills.

* * *

Legolas often tried to remember his home and his father. Sometimes flashes of his young past would bubble to the surface of his conscience, the large cavernous rooms of the underground dwellings, the paintings that hung in his father’s study, and sometimes the different rings he wore upon his large calloused fingers. Legolas looked at his own hands and wondered when he would earn the mark of an archer like his father, for he swore that he would one day be just like him.

Along with the memories, came the images that haunted him. Some were still very real, especially his father’s sudden death and the orcs. Legolas saw the room quite vividly with its vaulted ceilings and stone columns, the three wooden chairs that lined an altar, and a crown of berries lying on the middle chair. He remembered his father telling him about a secret tunnel in the throne room. That was where they were when it all happened. Elhadron held him as his father kissed his head and told him how much he loved his only son. Then the doors broke from their hinges and his father ran to join the other warriors. Something Legolas had not remembered surfaced. The other elves wore armor, leather shoulder pads and stiff bracers on their arms. His father wore no such armor, only black leggings, boots and a silver shirt that looked like metal. Perhaps he had not been on duty at the time. His father called to Elhadron for him to leave, and the counselor spun around with Legolas in his arms, running for the secret tunnel. Legolas stretched his neck and witnessed his father fighting the orcs, falling to the ground, and then being engulfed beneath a heap of black flesh. The last thing he had seen was his father’s sword coming out of his hand and trailing across the floor. Even now, the sound of metal sliding on stone rang clearly in his mind, and whenever Legolas heard this, he was instantly back in that grand room reliving the last moments of his father’s life.

Five years after the tragedy, Legolas still had nightmares about the orcs. They were lessened a bit, much more than when he first arrived at the man village, but they still haunted him, evil faces black as onyx, flesh that smelled of dead things, yellow eyes and long fangs filling wide mouths, claws for fingers. They were only dreams, yet they paralyzed him with fear. Legolas tried to imagine that he had his small bow and fired arrow after arrow at the beasts, but they did not even flinch. They just kept advancing upon him until they grabbed his legs, and pulled him into a bottomless pit of foul things. He would wake up in a sweat, grabbing at his sheets and crying out. Elhadron was always there to ease his mind and help him back to a kinder slumber with elvish words of comfort. Legolas only pretended to go back to sleep. He could not rest after such vivid nightmares, and lay in his bed staring at the thatched roof of their tree hut until the sun rose.

Elhadron was concerned about these episodes. He thought that they would happen less often as Legolas learned to fight. They had diminished a bit, but when the nightmares returned, they were quite violent. Elhadron knew who to talk to about these outbursts. Sefa was very knowledgeable about rearing the village children. He invited her to his home to discuss it with her. She would be the most sympathetic with his concerns, and she loved Legolas as if he were her own. 

After she learned all there was to know about Legolas’ dreams, Sefa smiled, glad that Elhadron had come to her first. She’d had experience with these kinds of things before and offered a solution. “I would suggest that you ask one of the men to make Legolas a talisman, something small that he can keep at his side or under his pillow. Then tell him, when he wakes from these dreams, to reach for his protection, and the apparitions will be frightened away.” 

Elhadron smiled, pleased with her advice, “How is it you know so much about children?” he asked.

“My sister had six children of her own. When her husband perished, I helped her raise them. There were plenty of sleepless nights after their father died, particularly the youngest boy. I asked Folvar to make him a wooden dagger to keep with him at night and it worked. That was how Folvar and I met. When he was younger, he was always making the practice weapons for the young boys and starting them in their training. Not only did he make the little dagger, but he inscribed a blessing upon the handle that would ward off any evil spirits. Now my sister’s son is the last remaining at home, but soon he will join with the patrol, just like his father before him.”

“Perhaps I will ask Folvar to make one of these daggers for Legolas,” Elhadron thought aloud.

“I’m sure he would be glad to do it. He is quite willing to do anything for you and the elf child.” She smiled and laid a hand over Elhadron’s arm.

They had been sitting in the elf’s hut, discussing this problem, when Legolas burst through the door, out of breath and golden hair a wild mess. His braids had unraveled, and leaves were tangled within the shoulder length strands. In his left hand, he held his bow and a small quiver, half filled with arrows. “Uncle, you must come at once and see what I caught today.”

“You have caught something?” the elf inquired, “I thought you were at practice today. No one said anything about hunting.”

“We were at practice, Uncle, but while I waited for my turn, I saw a brown rabbit at the edge of the glade. I know how much you enjoy a nice roasted coney, so I snuck off and chased the little creature,” Legolas recited excitably.

“You know you are not allowed to go off on your own. The forest is a dangerous place,” Elhadron scolded.

“I know and Kular has already told me what I did was wrong, until I showed him my catch. That is why you must come and see.” Legolas ignored the counselor’s harsh tone and fled from the doorway.

“Legolas, I am not done here,” the elf yelled as he chased the young boy down the rope ladder and to the ground. There, Elhadron found a half grown wild pig with three arrows protruding from its side. He touched one of the arrows, noticing they were child sized. “You caught this?” he asked stunned, “I thought you said it was a rabbit.”

Just then, Kular strolled up to where they stood by the pig. He ran his large hand through his blond hair, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can honestly say I have never seen the like. I did not think these practice arrows were strong or sharp enough to puncture the skin of a pig. The boy has strength and speed I have not seen in someone so young.”

“It was my first kill, Uncle,” Legolas added.

“And a fine one at that. I must admit that I am quite impressed, but you know it was wrong to run off like that.” Elhadron thought a lesson was more important than bringing down the animal.

“I know,” Legolas said feeling a bit deflated.

“I have told him this too,” Kular added, “But now that I see what he is capable of, I would ask your permission to begin honing his hunting skills. It would seem that Legolas needs advanced training.”

Elhadron regarded Legolas a moment, and the youth gave him his most pleading eyes. “Please, Uncle?”

“Will he be under your command, Kular?”

“Mine and Hafdan’s,” Kular answered.

“Very well, Legolas. You get your wish,” Elhadron informed, and Legolas started jumping for joy.

“But not until we take care of your catch,” Kular added, “The first thing any hunter knows is that you clean what you kill. It is for damn sure the women will not do it. They’ll butcher it and cook it any number of ways, but cleaning they will not do.”

Legolas’ joy was short lived, “You mean I must cut it open?”

Kular smiled, “And clean out the innards, dispose of the waste so that the wolves will not invade our camp, tie it up nice and neat, deliver it to the kitchens and other things I’m sure I’m forgetting to tell you about.”

Legolas looked disappointedly at Elhadron, who smiled in return, “It is all part of your training, remember.”

Kular patted Legolas on his shoulder, “Come now, it’s not as bad as it sounds.” He and Legolas went on their way to tend to their duties.

Sefa joined Elhadron and laughed, “Maybe next time he will shoot the rabbit instead … easier to clean.”

Elhadron shook his head, “Legolas is a very determined youth. He is destined to be a warrior and a great archer at that. So like his father, he is.”

For the next few months, Kular and Hafdan worked regularly with Legolas. They witnessed his improvement at an accelerated rate. No target was too small, but rabbit became a regular meal amongst the Woodsmen.

* * * 

Legolas was fitting right in with the men, and he was very proud. There was just one thing that he wished for now. At the end of the week, the men would gather in the hall and share conversation, liquor and smoke. Some of the older village boys were allowed to join, but Legolas was still too young, even though his skills surpassed those of human boys his age. He was very ambitious though, and started sneaking around in the kitchens of the dining hall, usually empty when the men gathered. From there, he could eavesdrop on the different conversations.

Kular was always fun to listen to as he and his brother Hafdan badgered each other, but that’s not what interested him the most. It was listening to Elhadron speak of his life in Mirkwood that intrigued him. His foster uncle had told him many stories, but these tales were the things that Legolas was too young to know about. Elhadron told the men detailed accounts of wars and strategies, of hacking heads from goblins and spilling the guts of orcs. He told them about the ferociousness of the wood elves, of their beauty and deadliness. Sometimes he went on about Lothlórien and the Noldor. Elhadron held a grudge against these elves. He had spoken very little of them to Legolas, but for the fact that they could not be trusted, and that if not for Lórien, Mirkwood might still exist. The young elf didn’t understand at first, but now, hearing Elhadron’s stories as he talked to the men, he started to comprehend why they were so hated by his foster uncle. Lothlórien was called upon and informed of the dangers that were growing in Mirkwood, but they never answered the King’s concerns. When they finally decided to march to Dol Guldur, Mirkwood was attacked. Lothlórien was too far south and invested in the battle at the dark towers to aid Mirkwood, and his home was destroyed. Legolas started to build up his own dislike for the Lórien elves, though he couldn’t help but be curious about them. They were elves after all and a part of Legolas longed to be amongst others like him. Elhadron had made it very clear however, that he should not want this, and that they were better off with the Woodsmen.

This particular night started just like every weekly gathering. Legolas waited until the men and Elhadron were settled in their spots, pipes lit and mugs full. Then he scurried off to his hiding place and listened to the conversations. The smell of ale hung heavy on the air, mingling with clouds of rich smoke. Kular was telling his brother about a lady he had recently met, saying how she was different from all the rest while Hafdan heckled him about not being the marrying kind. Torlek sat with another group of older men, discussing the findings of the week, whether it was ducks migrating through the area or scuffles at their borders. All of this was interesting to a ten year old elfling with an overwhelming curiosity about the world outside of the village, but it was not what he wanted to waste his determined snooping on. Legolas wanted to hear about blood and glory, and he moved to a place close to where Elhadron sat with Folvar and some others. He found his uncle just starting a story about the Battle of the Five Armies, a war in which he said Legolas’ father fought. The elfling listened as the counselor told a tale about a group of dwarves, captured and taken to the dungeons of Mirkwood. According to Elhadron, Dwarves were never to be trusted, even more so than Lothlórien, and the way the counselor described these cave dwellers made Legolas loath them. They were a race of greedy, hairy, angry little men who cared only for their wealth, no matter how they obtained it. Elhadron said it was because of the dwarves that Mirkwood became a main place for attacks from Dol Guldur, saying they brought with them something more evil than anything found lurking in the dark places of the woods. Elhadron was about to tell the men what that object was and who searched for it, when suddenly a messenger ran into the hall, out of breath with a frightful look upon his face.

“The borders have been breached,” the young man informed Folvar. “A group of orcs approached, calling for a meeting. They said that their spies told them the Woodsmen were harboring elves and that if they turned the fair folk over to them, they would leave the village unharmed. Our men told them there were no elves here, but the orcs would not listen. A battle broke out. Many more orcs, hidden within the trees, joined them. They deceived us with their numbers. There were too many, and they broke past our patrols. They are heading towards the village now.”

Legolas fell back against the wall he was hiding behind. Panic set in quickly. His nightmares were coming true. The orcs were coming and they would catch him, claw his flesh and take him away. His fear paralyzed him and he cowered in the kitchen wondering what he should do. Elhadron would go straight to their hut. When he found Legolas was not there, he’d be furious, but that would be a welcomed berating compared to what the orcs could do to him.

He got to his knees and looked over a barrel that sat beneath the kitchen’s pass-through window. The men were gathering their weapons, sheathing their swords and dashing from the hall to take their places amongst the other warriors. Folvar barked out orders to the remaining men, and then turned to Elhadron, “Get Legolas first, and then tell Sefa to warn the women to get to the highest platforms in the trees. She’ll know what to do. You should go with them, Elhadron.”

“I will do as you ask, but let me fight, Folvar. Legolas will be safe with the women and children. Sefa will look after him. You need all the warriors you can find,” Elhadron insisted.

At this, Legolas jumped up from his hiding spot and burst through the kitchen doors, “No Uncle, don’t leave me, please!”

Startled, Elhadron gasped, “Legolas, what are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to listen you your stories and--.”

“There is no time,” Folvar interrupted, “Both of you, get going now.”

Elhadron took Legolas by the hand and led him over the wooden plank bridges that connected the huts to each other until they came upon Folvar and Sefa’s home. Before the elf could knock, Sefa threw the door open, “I heard all the commotion. What is happening, Elhadron?”

“Orcs approach. You and the others should get to the high places,” he warned. Elhadron turned to look down at Legolas, “Will you take him with you?”

“No!” Legolas cried out.

“You should come with us,” Sefa demanded of the counselor.

He shook his head slowly, got down on his knee, and pulled Legolas to him. “I have to go, Little Leaf. The men need every skilled soldier. It would not be right for me to hide and leave the men to fight for us. Remember that when you are older. Remain faithful to those who are faithful to you.” He hugged the elf child, and then sped away.

Legolas watched as Elhadron bound over the bridges, making his way further down to where he would join the men in the battle on the ground. Heated tears pooled in his youthful blue eyes. Sefa pulled Legolas close to her skirts, “Your uncle is very brave. You should be proud of him.”

Legolas nodded in response, wiped the tears away with the back of his hand and breathed deep. Sefa led him away as she warned the other women, and they made their way to the high platforms.


	5. From Dreams to Reality

 

Visions of his father falling to the ground, and orcs swallowing him up like a black tide, consumed Legolas’ mind, but it was those same visions that gave the young elf a new sense of courage. Though he had witnessed his father’s death, he had also witnessed his last fighting strength. How many orcs had met their end before their black blades extinguished his father’s life? He never gave up, even as he faced his mortality. His father fought until his heart stopped beating. He did not run and hide as Legolas did now.

Women gathered on the high platform. Some comforted their children while other held onto each other. All of them had someone fighting down below, whether they were fathers, sons, brothers or husbands. Sefa kept Legolas close to her side as she helped comfort some of the other women. The young elf looked at all of them and saw fear as the most prominent emotion. He was suddenly tired of being afraid. Night after night, the black monsters came for him and he cried out in his sleep. Now the monsters were real; below him on the ground were the same hideous creatures that stole his father from him. For the first time, anger pushed past Legolas’ fear. These beasts killed his family and burned his home, making him an orphan.

The young elf went to the window of his elevated sanctuary and looked out over the forest. Woodsmen fought with orcs below him. The smell of rotted flesh wafted up through the trees, and he felt his breath hitch. Not this time, Legolas told himself, as he allowed his anger to seethe, extinguishing his fear. A flash of gold flared across the forest floor. Elhadron ran to aid some of the archers who had the advantage over one group of orcs.

“Legolas get back from there,” Sefa yelled to him. She pulled him into her arms as she brought him away from the window. The youth sat silently next to the kind woman, his mind conjuring up thoughts and ideas. He had an overwhelming urge to run down to the forest floor. He wanted to see these creatures up close. He wanted to know that they were not stronger than he was. He needed to see them die. If only he could slip away from Sefa. He hated the thought of deceiving her—she had been so kind and loving towards him—but the hate that boiled within his elvish blood overtook him like a fever. This feeling of courage mixed with anger was intoxicating. Just one orc, he thought to himself. If he could kill just one of them, he was sure the nightmares would end. His father would be free of his dreams and he would not have to witness his death anymore.

At that moment, one of the women came to Sefa, shaking her head with defeat. “What is wrong?” Sefa asked.

“One of the pregnant women is complaining of sharp pains. We have tried to keep her calm, but it is not working. The pain worsens.”

“Is she due to deliver soon?” Sefa asked.

“She is much too far from that time. I fear something is wrong. Will you come and help, Sefa?” the woman pleaded.

Sefa nodded and the woman left to tend to the pregnant one. “Legolas, I have to go check on her, but I want you to stay here. Do not wander to that window again, do you understand? It is too dangerous. Should a stray arrow--.” Sefa refused to finish that sentence. “I will be right back.”

Legolas nodded and pulled his knees to his chest. Sefa tucked his hair behind a pointed ear and smiled sweetly at him. He returned the smile and watched her cross the hut and enter into a room where the women with medical needs were housed. The hut they were in was every bit as big as the dining hall, but it was mostly empty. Only a few crates and barrels littered the place. At the far end was the room Legolas watched Sefa disappear into. Thin mattresses lined the floor of the room. This place was meant for shelter during times of duress and nothing more. It was the highest point in the village, situated in the tallest tree, and furthest away from the rest of the tree city. Its safety was deceiving though. There was only one rope bridge accessing the building. If the enemy should overcome the men, the women were trapped with no escape. Still, through all the generations of Woodsmen, this had never happened, and by the looks of the determined men as they went to the battle, it would not happen today either.

Legolas glanced around the room. No one was paying him any attention. Three crates dotted the floor, each one closer to the door than the next. He looked left and then right. He checked on the room at the back. Sefa was still nowhere to be seen. Now was his only chance and he took it, sneaking quietly from crate to crate until he was at the doorway. Legolas slipped out of the door, crossed the bridge, and made his way to his home.

Legolas had not been seen, and Sefa hadn’t come looking for him. His home was dark with all the candles extinguished and no fire in the hearth. Legolas took a moment to catch his breath. He glanced around the room and saw his small bow leaning against the far wall, close to his bed. Beside it sat his quiver and arrows, the tips sharp, since he no longer used practice blunts. He pushed away from the doorway and ran to his weapon, attached the quiver to his back and grabbed the bow tightly in his hand. With a heavy sigh, he ran towards the door, hoping no one had noticed he left the safe house. The way was still clear, not a soul in sight. His mind was set on getting to the ground and helping the men fight, but he hesitated as he thought of the orcs below and the ones in his dreams. Legolas’ heart began to beat uncontrollably. It was one thing to face the monsters of his unconscious mind, but to encounter them face to face— black flesh and maddening eyes—that was frighteningly real. “I have to … for Uncle and for the men,” he encouraged himself, but his legs would not take him another step further. He lifted his hand and watched as it shook. He could not go, but deep down something was driving him to the decision to leave the safety of the trees and head to the ground. Legolas looked back into his home, as if trying to find someone there that would force him to leave. There was no one but himself, but then he remembered one thing that perhaps would give him the bit of courage he needed. He still had his talisman safely tucked beneath his pillow. Elhadron had given it to him when the nightmares had not subsided. His uncle had gone to Folvar and asked the man to make something. The chieftain had carved a small dagger from wood, not a real weapon, but a symbol of protection from dark dreams. Before giving it to Legolas, Elhadron added elvish runes to the handle, telling him it would help keep evil thoughts at bay during his slumber. Legolas kept the mock weapon with him at all times at first, but as his fear subsided, he left it under his pillow. The nightmares lessoned so long as the wooden trinket was there. Perhaps it would help him now, he thought, as he went to his bed, retrieved it from beneath the pillow and carefully tucked the talisman into his tunic. Now he was ready. He would face his fears, his dark nightmares that were living creatures on the forest floor. He must do this … for his uncle, for his father, for himself . . . “For Mirkwood,” he whispered, and he left the hut.

* * *

The sound of the grunts and groans below was frightening enough, but when Legolas jumped to the ground, and found himself in the middle of the battle, he was stunned. He had managed to release one of the rope ladders, and quickly descended to the forest floor. Keeping his back to the tree, he turned his head and looked around the trunk. Orcs ran here and there with their black scimitars swinging at anything that moved. Men dodged their strikes, but some were caught off guard and now lay dead on the ground, a pool of blood spreading beneath the fallen bodies. Legolas whipped his head back behind the base of the wide tree where he was hiding. His heart felt as if it would break his ribs. His breathing became rapid and he was shaking. He began to doubt his decision to run away from the safety of the high platform, but it was too late now. He was in the middle of a brutal battle, a young elfling with no experience of the real world or its dangers. He remembered what the messenger had said. The orcs were looking for elves. They were looking for him, just like in his dreams, but this … the blood, the bodies, the stench of orcs … this was real.

“I have to calm myself,” he repeated, “I have to focus on my targets, and judge their next move.” These were the rules that Kular and Hafdan had taught him about archery. It was so easy when aiming at a rabbit or a bird. They did not want to cut his head from his shoulders. Legolas closed his eyes and took three deep breaths. “You can do this, and you have to do this if you ever expect to be a warrior someday.” He opened his eyes, feeling much calmer, and peered around the tree again. Legolas gasped at what he saw. Three very large, yellow-eyed orcs were running right at him. He hid himself behind the tree again and froze like a marble statue. The growls of the orcs became louder as they approached. Legolas was sure they had seen him.

Suddenly, they ran past his hiding spot. If they stopped and turned around, Legolas would be plainly visible to them, but they seemed to be on some sort of determined mission. Then the elfling realized that they were going deeper into the village’s territory. They had gotten past the line of defense. Had no one seen them? Legolas waited, but no arrows flew towards the orcs. He must be the only one to have witnessed them, and now he had to act quickly. The youth retrieved an arrow from his quiver, notched it, and stretched the string back. He was still shaking when he fired, and the arrow embedded into a tree in front of the orcs. They had seen it and all three spread in different directions, jumping behind the closest tree to take cover. One of the putrid beasts looked out from behind his tree and glanced around the camp, when suddenly, his evil eyes fell upon the youth. The orc growled at his companions, and all three came out of hiding. They straightened their backs, and brought their blades in front of them, smiling their fanged grins as they closed in on the youth.

“Is that an elf?” one asked.

“I believe it is,” answered another in their dark speech, “And a rat of an elf, he is.” He switched to Westron, as he and the other two prowled closer to Legolas. “Tried to stick me with one of your arrows, did ye?”

Legolas was in a state of shock and could not move. His nightmare was now living and breathing, coming closer with every step. He had lost the use of his voice and could not call out for help. All he could do was close his eyes tightly and hope death was swift.

One of the orcs laughed with a snort through his pig like nose. “Given up, have ye? Aw, ye make my job too easy.”

Legolas took one last deep breath and held it, when suddenly--.

thwack … thwack, thwack. 

He was afraid to look, but managed to open one eye, and saw all three orcs lying dead on the ground, an arrow in each of their heads.

“Legolas!” someone called from across the way. The elfling came out from behind the tree and Kular’s fear instantly washed away when he saw the youth. “Legolas, how did you get down here?” Kular went to him and pulled the boy close, feeling his whole body shake. “It’s alright. I’ve got ya child, but you should not be here.” He spoke softly, not wanting to berate the elfling when he was so scared. Kular was sure Sefa would give Legolas an earful later.

Meanwhile, Elhadron was on the other side of the area, firing arrow after arrow at a group of orcs, when he heard someone call Legolas’ name. He looked to see who it was, and noticed Kular kneeling down by a tree. Surely, he had misunderstood the name called out. Legolas was safe with the women and children, but as he focused his sharp vision, there was no mistaking the flaxen head of the youth. It was indeed Legolas.

The number of orcs seemed to be dwindling and the men, along with Elhadron, managed to ward off the attack. From somewhere in the camp, Folvar called out, “They are retreating.” Some of the men followed the orcs, chasing them away from the village.

Elhadron watched Kular stand guard over Legolas and called, “Legolas, what were you thinking, coming here!”

“He is alright,” Kular shouted back, “Shaken, but well.”

“Aye, Kular come … we are needed,” Hafdan shouted.

Kular looked over to his brother and then glanced at Elhadron. “Go Kular, I’ve got Legolas,” the elf said.

Kular nodded and patted Legolas on the head before he ran off to join his brother. Elhadron was about half way to the elfling, and already reprimanding him, “What are you doing here? Did I not tell you to stay with Sefa and the others?”

Elhadron’s words faded from Legolas’ ears as he suddenly saw movement from the trees a few dozen lengths from his foster uncle. An orc rose from the underbrush, his enormous bow trained on Elhadron’s back. There was no time to shout a warning and there was no one else around to see. The counselor was oblivious to what was about to happen, still ranting about never listening; just like his father in his youth, of all the idiotic things … and so on. But Legolas was watching every move the orc made, and raised his small bow. He recited the rules in his head, calmed his thoughts and pretended as if this was nothing more than a boar.

Elhadron watched Legolas raise his bow towards him. “Put that weapon down. What has come over you? I may be upset but I’m not going to--.”

Legolas released his arrow and it whizzed right by Elhadron’s head making a wisp of yellow hair float up and curl in the quick passing breeze. The older elf dropped to his knees, unsure of what was happening. There was a cry like a stuck pig, and Elhadron looked behind him. He watched as an orc fell lifeless to the ground, a single arrow protruding from in between its eyes. The counselor scrambled to his feet and rushed to Legolas. The elfling dropped his bow and closed the distance, grasping Elhadron. His foster uncle cradled the youths head against his chest, feeling Legolas tremble.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Legolas repeated between sobs.

A flash of lightening lit up the forest and thunder rumbled across the treetops. Elhadron looked up to see the dark clouds filling the spaces in between the leaves of the canopy. Then he lowered himself to his knees and wiped the tears from Legolas’ face. “It is alright. Look at me. Everything is fine.” Then he smiled. “Did you see, Legolas? Did you see that shot?” he laughed.

“But I disobeyed you, and you are upset with me,” the boy continued.

“Oh my Little Leaf, for once I can honestly say I am glad you did not listen to me,” Elhadron caught Legolas by the chin, “Look at me.” The elfling’s azure eyes were rimmed with red, but he focused on his uncle. “You, Legolas, you will be a great warrior one day, just like your father. And some day I will tell you more of his story, but just know that he was as courageous, strong, and true as any of the great legends. You are just like him; that same fire burns within your soul. He loved you so much, Little Leaf, and I know he would be so proud of you right now.” Elhadron brushed the hair from Legolas’ eyes. “I am not upset. I am just as proud, and I love you too.”

Another flash of lightening illuminated the ever-growing darkness of an approaching storm, and the first drops of rain managed to find their way through the treetops, but the elves ignored the threat. Elhadron pulled Legolas to his chest, embracing him. Legolas’ tears stopped falling as he felt such comfort in his foster uncle’s arms.

“I love you too, Elhadron … Uncle,” he said, as rain began soaking the ground around them, but something changed. Suddenly Elhadron’s body stiffened, every muscle tensing. His tight embrace gave way and Legolas was confused. He’d never felt this from his uncle before.

Elhadron released Legolas and began leaning to the side. His eyes focused on Legolas, but the boy felt as if he was looking through him, not at him.

“Uncle?” Legolas asked, “Uncle, what is wrong?”

Elhadron fell onto his side, catching himself with his elbow so that his head did not hit the forest floor. He began to make unnatural sounds, gurgling and gasping for breath. Legolas stood, stunned and unable to process what was happening, but soon he saw the reason for Elhadron’s condition. From his back protruded a black arrow.

“Elhadron!” Legolas yelled. His cries gained the attention of a few of the Woodsmen who were returning from their chase. The boy looked towards them and desperately called, “Help! He’s been shot! Uncle’s been shot!”

One man ran back into the woods to get help, while the other came to Legolas and Elhadron. “An arrow, an orc arrow,” Legolas cried. While the man leaned down to help Elhadron, Legolas instantly started scanning the trees. At that same instant, Kular, Hafdan, and a few other men ran into the small clearing at the edge of the village. Legolas paid them no mind, but he kept searching until he saw it. There stood an orc with yellowish green eyes peering through the dark, grey-green skin, and pointed teeth set in a snarl. Legolas heard it laugh, as it gazed at its accomplishment. Then its sight fell upon the elfling and the boy felt the orc’s hatred drill into his being. It had seen him. It knew he was an elf and it knew its job was not yet finished. It started to reach into a quiver and retrieve another arrow, but Legolas broke the fearful trance and yelled to Kular, “There, over there in the trees! There is the orc!”

The beast released Legolas from its lethal stare, snapping its head in the direction of the men and hissing like a trapped wildcat. Kular had seen the orc looking at the elfling. It knew at least one elf lived. Then the monster turned and ran off into the forest.

“Men, follow it! Kill it! We cannot let it get away. It has seen the elf child. Hurry!” Kular called to his companions.

“Find Folvar and tell him what has happened. I will stay with Elhadron,” Hafdan told his brother before he too came to Legolas’ side.

Legolas, knowing that the men were after the orc, dropped to the ground with his legs tucked underneath him, and brushed the wet hair from Elhadron’s face. The rain came down in droves. The ground around them turned to mud, as small puddles formed here and there. The young elf looked up at Hafdan, “Can you help him?”

“We will try,” Hafdan replied, as he inspected Elhadron’s back. The arrow was deeply imbedded. He closed his eyes, knowing there was nothing that could be done except keep the elf as comfortable as possible. There was no doubt that he would die, but Hafdan would not tell either one. “Let me find something to transport him on, so that we can get him out of the rain.”

Legolas nodded and watched the Woodsman run off in a hurry, leaving the elves alone. The boy started to cry, and the sound of his whimpering brought Elhadron back to the present. His eyes cleared for a moment, and he spoke in barely a whisper, with what breath he had left in his punctured lung. “Laiqalassë, listen to me,” he said, using Legolas’ proper elvish name. “There is … something . . .” He coughed and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His world was beginning to darken as Námo called to his fae, his soul, “Your adar … his name … Tha … Thar … Tharan--.” And with that Elhadron breathed his last breath, the air slowly escaping his mouth. His eyes dimmed, and his natural glow faded. Elhadron, counselor, foster uncle and protector passed from Arda.

“Uncle! No, please don’t leave me! Elhadron!” Legolas wailed.

Hafdan came running with Torlek by his side holding a makeshift litter, but the sound of the elfling’s cries told them they were too late. The men slowed their steps and bowed their heads, saying a silent prayer for the elf’s soul to find safe passage. Then they approached Legolas, and stood on either side of the boy while he grieved for the passing of the only elf in his young life.

Lightening sparked above once more, only now it lit the sky opposite of where it had originally been seen. The storm was moving away from them now. It was still raining, but it was beginning to let up. A stream of blood and water flowed out from beneath Elhadron’s lifeless body. Legolas clung to him, rain-soaked and shivering from the cold. Kular emerged from the tree line with Folvar and the other men. Hafdan looked up and over to his young brother, slowly shaking his head. Kular touched his thumb to his forehead, then to his chest, as he too prayed for the elf.

Hafdan walked to his brother and Folvar, meeting them halfway, “Did you find the orc?”

“We lost sight of it and it escaped,” Kular answered, and he turned to Folvar, “It saw the elfling. It will no doubt tell the others and they’ll return. You know they will not stop until they think every last elf has been extinguished.”

“I know,” Folvar said, defeated, “We cannot stay. They will come back and with more reinforcements. They have seen our village and know our numbers. We will not stand a chance.”

“What are we to do?” Hafdan asked.

“Inform the women, we have to abandon the village. Tell them to pack only what is necessary.” Folvar sighed and looked off to the west, “We will go to the Ford of Carrock. The Beornings will hopefully give us refuge until it is safe to return home.”


	6. Friends Along The Way

Most of the village stood together at the graves and watched the burial of Elhadron. Sefa and Folvar took Legolas with them to stand at the head of the tomb, each with a hand upon the elfling’s shoulders. Kular, Hafdan and Torlek stood right behind them. The men were all dressed in their fighting gear with weapons at their sides, just as they did for any of their fallen brothers. Elhadron was honored in death as well as in life, as a member of the village and the tribe of fighting Woodsmen. He had shared many of Mirkwood’s strategies for fighting and protecting their people, in hopes that it would help these men. The Woodsmen were richer for having shared in this knowledge, and they started using the new ideas right away. Some said it was because of Elhadron that they were able to fend off the recent orc attack, and the stories of that day would be told for many generations to come.

Legolas watched as the pallbearers carefully placed Elhadron inside the tomb. The graves were simple, naught more than mounds of rock and dirt covered with ivy, each with a large stone to cover the opening. Elhadron’s tomb was still bare, but Legolas imagined that, in time, the fast growing vine would make it look comparable to the others. Some of the women tossed white flowers inside the tomb, an offering to help the soul find its way into the afterlife. One of the contributors, a girl about Legolas’ age, handed him one of her flowers before putting the rest inside the tomb. She gave him a sympathetic smile and went back to her family. Legolas watched her. He had seen her about the village before, but had never talked to her. He wasn’t sure if she had even known Elhadron, but she kindly showed her empathy for Legolas and his deceased uncle.

Sefa leaned down and kissed the top of Legolas’ head, then stepped to the side of the tomb entrance. She started singing a lament to Elhadron in some ancient tongue. The elf child did not know the language, but the sadness in her voice spoke volumes. His foster uncle had touched many more lives than the youth realized. This made Legolas feel closer to the Woodsmen and women. He was not alone in his grief.

After the ceremony, at the closing of the tomb, people slowly faded from the crowd, and went back to their homes to finish packing up their belongings. There was not much time left before they began their journey to the land of the Beornings. Had they not needed to tend to a funeral, they would have been on their way by now. Still, Sefa and the men who knew Elhadron, stayed until all the others had left the gravesite. They gathered around Legolas as if keeping watch over him, unsure of what to expect of a grieving elf. They soon learned that there was no difference between the races in the level of sadness felt for a lost loved one.

Finally, after a long day and many shed tears, Sefa spoke. “We should be going home now, Legolas. Folvar will take you to your hut so that you can gather all of your things. Then you will come and stay with us tonight. Tomorrow we must leave.”

Legolas nodded, but before he left, he remembered something that he wanted to do. He reached for his belt and brought forth the wooden talisman, the dagger Elhadron had given him. He held it in the palm of his hand, examining it as he ran a finger over the carved elvish runes on the handle. This had been his protection from the nightmares that had haunted him. He had seen those dreams become reality, and somehow the dagger no longer seemed to hold its magic. Legolas looked to the tomb, gave a heavy sigh, and laid it in front of the sealed entrance. “I will not need this now. There will be no more nightmares. I do not fear them anymore,” he said softly in Sindarin. He took a step backwards, into the arms of his new foster parents, Sefa and Folvar, and they went back to the tree huts to finish packing their belongings.

* * *

The journey through the forest was full of perils. They stayed on the path as well as they could, but sometimes it was deceiving, and would threaten to send them the wrong way. However, the Woodsmen were experienced scouts and could determine rather quickly whether they were going off course or not.

Sefa kept Legolas close to her as they traveled. Often times, Folvar would ride ahead with the men, and his wife stayed back with the other women and children. Since there were many eyes upon the path, she decided it was best to make sure Legolas stayed cloaked and hooded. There were no orcs in this area of the forest, but there were many spies, crows, snakes and enormous spiders, that would send word to their masters if they should see an elf. 

Legolas remained unusually quiet during the trip. If asked a question, he would nod or shake his head, depending on his answer. He rarely smiled, and when he did, it was not more than a curl at the corner of his mouth.

Though there were several children in the village, Legolas had only made a few friends during his time there. Elhadron had spent a lot of time teaching Legolas lessons or seeing to his training with Kular and Hafdan, leaving little time for friendships . Now, because of Legolas’ aloofness, those same children shied away from him. He didn’t want to seem like this, but the loss of Elhadron was so sudden and recent, that he could not help himself. He was afraid his friends would ask too many questions, things he was not ready to speak of yet. The pain was still too new. And so, for most of the journey, Legolas kept close to Sefa or Folvar, choosing silence rather than interaction with the other children. He’d rather reflect on his memories of his foster Uncle at this point.

Elhadron had taught Legolas many things of the elves, and being with him had made Legolas feel closer to his heritage. Now he wondered if he would forget some of these lessons. He used this time to repeat Elhadron’s advice within his thoughts, just to make sure he would always remember who he was and where he came from. Most of all, Elhadron had been the one to make his father seem like a legend, with all of his stories. Legolas remembered him from the few short years he had in Mirkwood, but Elhadron’s accounts made it seem as if he still lived. It sparked his imagination and reminded him of what his father looked like and his mannerisms. Now who would keep those memories alive and vivid? There was no one but Legolas who could do this now.

The traveling party decided to stop for the night and made camp along the forest path. The men went off to secure a tight perimeter around the horses and carts, while the women busied themselves by preparing the evening meal. There was about three hundred villagers altogether, but only half of them traveled now. The elderly and sick stayed behind, as well as a good number of soldiers to protect their home from another invasion. There were still plenty of mouths to feed amongst the travelers. Just because they were on the road did not mean the duties stopped. Everyone had a part to play and no one complained.

While helping to set up the camp, Sefa watched Legolas from the corner of her eye. He hadn’t spoken much since they left the village. His eyes were always downcast, and the frown never left his once bright face. She wished he would seek out his friends, but the last time she encouraged him, Legolas retreated into their tent and remained there until they left the next morning. Sefa sighed, and felt the heaviness of her heart. The poor boy seemed to suffer all alone. Everyone was saddened by Elhadron’s death, but no one grieved more than Legolas. She had to do something, and glanced around the camp, finding a group of older boys gathered on the opposite side. Maybe talking with some of the other boys would help bring him out of his desolation. It couldn’t hurt, she concluded, and stopped what she was doing to talk to Legolas.

He was sitting in a patch of grass, pulling the blades out slowly, one by one, clueless to everything happening around him. Sefa sat down next to him and lovingly pushed the hair from his eyes. “I have not seen you with Balfar or Igwold lately. Don’t you want to spend some time with your friends?” she asked softly.

Legolas shook his head, “I don’t think they want to be around me either. Things changed after the funeral. I guess we don’t know what to say to each other.”

“That’s understandable,” Sefa replied. She picked a piece of long grass and held it between her thumbs. Then she cupped her hands together, and brought them to her lips. She blew air into the small oval space that her thumbs made, where the grass was, and produced a high-pitched squeak. She stopped and laughed as she rubbed her lips, “It tickles.”

Legolas looked at her, the sadness gone from his eyes for the moment, as he tried to figure out how she made the noise. Without speaking, Sefa showed him her trick, step by step. When Legolas tried it, nothing happened. He blew a few more times with no results. Sefa shrugged her shoulders, “It takes a bit of practice to know just where to place your thumbs on your lips.”

Legolas, not one to give up easily, kept trying until he successfully played the screeching sound, then he laughed, “You’re right, it does tickle.”

The noises they made caught the attention of the group of boys Sefa had seen earlier. She noticed them looking in their direction, and cocked her head to the side, “Why don’t you go join the boys? You haven’t spent much time with any of the children since we left the village.”

Legolas glanced at the group. The oldest boy with dark brown hair was Ladnir. He was an instigator, usually convincing the other boys to do his bidding. Often the leader, Ladnir came up with ridiculous challenges that never seemed to end well. His latest dare had to do with one of Legolas’ friends, Balfar, and the stealing of a flask of liquor from one of the kitchen help. Balfar had been successful at swindling the flask, but then Ladnir made him drink its contents. Balfar ended up paying a heavy price for following Ladnir’s orders. The alcohol did not sit well in his stomach. The poor boy spent the night with his head in a bucket, his mother claiming that when he had sobered she would string him up by his ears, and, in the morning, he suffered from a pounding headache. When Legolas asked his friend why he did it, Balfar told him that no one refused Ladnir or they would never hear the end of his ridicule. After that, Legolas avoided Ladnir as best he could. Now, Sefa was telling him to go over and talk to the troublemaker. He shook his head, “I don’t feel like talking to anyone just now.”

“It will do you good, Legolas. You’ve barely spoken a word in days.”

If there was one thing that Legolas knew about Sefa, it was her insistency, or nagging as he had heard Folvar put it. Once she made her mind up, there was no denying her. Funny, Legolas thought, but she suddenly seemed a lot like Ladnir, though he was quite sure his foster mother would not put him into any uncomfortable situations. “Alright,” Legolas agreed reluctantly, “but I’m not going to talk to anyone.”

“Oh, I agree,” she responded, surprising Legolas, “You wouldn’t want to accidentally smile or laugh. What would the others think of you?” She was of course teasing, and Legolas realized how stubborn he was being. The corner of his lips twisted upward, and Sefa covered her mouth with her hand, mocking surprise, “That is exactly the thing you do not want to do or you’ll make a friend for sure.”

Legolas bowed his head and smiled wider. “Thanks, Sefa,” he said quietly as he stood from his grassy spot, and walked to where the boys were playing.

Besides Ladnir, there were three other boys. The youngest was Jorli. He was Ladnir’s younger brother. Even though they were six years apart, there was no mistaking the family resemblance. They had the same straight nose, dark brown hair, and slanted brown eyes. Jorli was not as domineering as his older brother, but he followed along with his antics.

Gelnar was a lanky blond haired boy, the same age as Ladnir. He was quiet, and seemed to associate with Ladnir merely for status. He was not as crass as Ladnir could sometimes be. He was more of an observer, and would speak up when he thought a prank might go too far. He had a talent for suggesting a safer alternative, while letting Ladnir think he was still in charge.

Last of the older boys in the group was Erlend. He was big for a boy of only fifteen, taller, rounder and dimwitted. He had tried to train as a soldier, but his plump frame slowed him considerably. Instead, he helped take care of the horses, and was now the main stable hand. Erlend had a unique ability to speak with the horses, calming them when they were anxious, and they trusted him. Legolas often wondered why Ladnir tolerated this simple-minded oaf. He would have made an easy target for ridicule, but he would also be a relentless pursuer to someone who might have a good laugh at his expense. No one made fun of Erlend’s mental disadvantage or his obesity without learning that he could throw a mean punch. This was his only means of defense against those who would sneer at him. Perhaps Ladnir felt sorry for him. Whatever the reason, Erlend obeyed Ladnir’s orders, and guarded him against those who meant him harm.

Legolas stood back and observed the group of boys for a moment. They had found sticks and were drawing figures in the dirt. Ladnir would draw while the rest tried to guess what it was. Legolas could tell that the other boys were humoring their leader. Some of the figures were too obvious, but they took their time guessing.

The elf stepped up to the group, and watched Ladnir draw some strange creature. He realized right away what it was, but did not say anything as the other boys started guessing.

“It’s a dog isn’t it?” said Gelnar, “It looks just like the one that wandered into the village a while back.”

“It’s not a dog,” replied Ladnir.

“Is it one of the grey wolves that we hear howling at night?” asked his brother, Jorli.

“It’s not a grey wolf,” said Ladnir, “but you are close.”

Erlend pushed away the mass of auburn hair that hung in his eyes and studied the figure for a long while, “Is it a dog?” he finally asked, and the others sighed with frustration.

“Gelnar already guessed that, you numbskull,” Ladnir complained.

Legolas glanced over his shoulder, and found Sefa watching him. She smiled and waved to him. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he turned back to the boys. Well, he thought, if she was going to make him join in, then he wasn’t going be one of Ladnir’s subordinates. He pushed between Gelnar and Jorli, and twisted his neck to get a better look. “It’s a warg,” he said dryly.

The boys all looked at Legolas, surprised to hear him speak. Ladnir eyed him peculiarly, “Yea, that’s. Good guess.” There was a hint of disappointment in his voice. It was obvious that he was not used to anyone guessing correctly on the first try.

“It was more than just a guess,” Legolas blurted out before realizing it. Suddenly, he was the center of attention. He started to feel a little uncomfortable, and took a couple steps backward, but Ladnir was not about to let him get away. He gave a quick nod to Erlend, who took one massive step behind Legolas, blocking his escape. Ladnir stood up from the fallen tree he had been sitting on, and approached the young elf, staring down his straight nose, “So, how could you tell?”

Legolas gulped and pointed to the drawing in the dirt. “The fangs, they are too long to be a dog or a wolf, though its head should be wider, and the hair you drew on its neck should stick up like porcupine quills.” Uh-oh, he thought, too much information.

There was tension in the surrounding air, as Ladnir gave Legolas a scowl for criticizing his artwork. Gelnar sensed it too, and came to stand next to Ladnir. The mediator, Legolas noted mentally. Either Gelnar was intrigued with the elf’s attention for detail, or only playing the part to keep the peace, “You sound like you’ve seen one before, Legolas.” 

“I have … and a little too closely. Tried to eat me, but I ducked when it lunged towards me … then it fell into the Enchanted River and drowned in its sleep,” Legolas replied. He hadn’t told anyone that story before. It was something he had tried very hard to forget.

No one said anything as they waited for Ladnir to decide whether Legolas should stay or be chased off. Ladnir gave a half smile, “Enchanted River? Ha, next thing … you’ll be telling me you fought off the demon Shelob.” There was a pregnant pause before Ladnir laughed at his own bit of humor, and the others followed suit.

Legolas did not laugh, but he remembered waking up to the sound of a giant spider trying to work its way into the cave he where Elhadron hid him after escaping from the overthrown palace. He looked Ladnir in the eyes and waited for him to stop laughing, which happened rather quickly. “A lot of things have happened to me since I lost my home and there is nothing funny about any of it.”

Everyone’s mouth dropped open, including Ladnir’s, who was too caught up in the moment to realize what he had said. The other boys were shocked that someone had stood up to their leader. Legolas had had enough. He turned to leave, but Erlend was still blocking his path like a big round boulder. Legolas was afraid to try to slip past him, so he waited for Ladnir to order him to move. Silently, Legolas wished Sefa had left him alone to begin with.

“Hey,” Ladnir said from behind Legolas, but the elf did not turn and remained silent. Ladnir went to Legolas and laid a hand on his shoulder, “Sorry.” He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to. An apology was all that was needed in that awkward moment.

Legolas turned to face Ladnir, “It’s alright.” Apology accepted.

“So … you really saw a warg then?” Ladnir asked a little hesitantly. He was not used to being the one asking questions.

Legolas nodded, and felt the tension start to melt away. He could also see that the other boys were anxious to start asking him their own set of questions. They were just waiting for Ladnir to give some secret signal.

“Hey, you want to come sit with us and maybe you can tell us more … if you want to?” Ladnir asked. That was the signal, because the others gathered around Legolas and ushered him to the fallen log. Eventually, he started to relax and answer them one by one until he told his story of the warg. He thought it would hurt too much to talk about Elhadron, but found it to be very healing. These boys had known Elhadron too, and they grieved for his loss. Soon, they were all swapping stories and learning a little more about each other. Legolas enjoyed sharing, but he was still a little hesitant, only offering conversation after being asked.

Later, a girl ran up to the group of boys, the same girl that had given Legolas the white flower at Elhadron’s funeral. “It’s time to come for supper,” she called to them.

The boys stood from their spots, and started walking away when Gelnar noticed that Legolas had not followed, “You better hurry before the men come to eat or there won’t be anything left, you know.”

“That’s alright. I’m not very hungry anyways,” answered Legolas.

Gelnar, not one to argue, shrugged his shoulders, “Suit yourself then.” He turned and followed the other boys.

Legolas noticed that the girl did not follow. Instead, she joined Legolas, and sat next to him on the log. He did not acknowledge her at first. He had just spent a good deal of time bonding with Ladnir and his friends. Instead, he picked up a stick and started drawing lines in the dirt.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” She glanced to his slim frame and skinny arms, “You look like you haven’t eaten in a month.”

Legolas saw her watching him, and glanced to each of his bare arms. “What … I’ve always looked like this,” he said defensively.

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said apologetically. The girl looked over her shoulder, “I better be going. Are you sure you don’t—”

“I’m sure,” the elf blurted out a little harshly, and he watched the girl dash off. He felt bad. He hadn’t meant to snap at her, but he didn’t like people questioning his appearance. He had noticed how big and muscled the Woodsmen were and thought about what the elves looked like. Men looked much stronger and wore their strength proudly. Elves were more lithe and graceful, but their strength lay hidden within. He started to wonder if all humans saw him as weak and lanky.

Sefa was helping to get the children fed, and noticed that Legolas was not among them. She stepped away, and glanced to the spot where he had gone, finding him sitting on a log, alone again. She spoke the girl that she had sent to call the boys to supper. “Did you tell Legolas it was time to eat?”

“Yes ma’am, but he said he was not hungry,” the girl answered.

Sefa sighed and put her hands on her hips, “Well, one thing is for sure about elves. They do not have the voracious appetites of men, but I know they still need to eat.” She broke off a chunk of bread from a larger loaf and picked up an apple, handing it to the girl. “Will you take this to Legolas and tell him that I said he is to eat, or I will have him cleaning up after the horses.”

The girl giggled and took the food from Sefa, then ran off to join Legolas. He looked up slowly to find the girl standing with her hands full. “Here,” she said shoving the apple at the elf, “Sefa said you better eat or else.”

“Or else what?”

She handed him the bread and took a step back. Then she looked to the right and pointed to where the horses stood. “She’s gonna make you clean up after them, and they’ve been eating since we made camp … if you know what I mean.”

Legolas looked to where Sefa stood, and found her watching him. She made a gesture with her hand as if she were shoveling food into her mouth. Legolas raised the apple in the air then took a big bite, exaggerating his moves from across the camp. He could see Sefa smile and shake her head.

“Can I sit with you?” the girl asked.

“Shouldn’t you go back and eat with the others?” 

“Oh, I ate quickly. I’m fine,” she answered and sat on the log next to him. As Legolas bit into his apple, the girl stole sideways glances at the elf. His hood had slipped down and the tips of his ears protruded through his fine wheat colored hair. Forgetting her manners, she started to stare.

Legolas felt her eyes upon him and watched her through his peripheral vision. “What is it you find so interesting?” he uttered suddenly, making the girl jump.

“I’m sorry, it’s just … well, I’ve never … oh never mind.”

“You were looking at my ears.”

The girl fidgeted, “Well, yea I guess so. I didn’t mean to, it’s just … I’ve seen them from a distance, but never up close and—”

“They are just ears. I don’t know what is so intriguing about them.”

“They have points,” she admitted.

Legolas reached out and pushed her hair from her ear. “And yours are rounded, but I don’t stare at them.”

The girl shied away from his touch, but regained herself quickly. She readjusted her hair and looked at him again. “Do they do anything? I mean, do they make you hear better or something like that?”

“Do yours?” he asked bluntly and threw his apple core into the bushes.

The girl touched her ears and wiggled them, “No, I don’t think they do.”

“Neither does mine. They are just ears and nothing more.” He tried to ignore her, but she just kept watching him. Well, he thought, if she wasn’t going to leave, he might as well talk to her. “What is your name?”

“Katala,” she answered.

Legolas nodded and pulled a piece of bread from the chunk in his hand and gave it to her.

“Oh no, that is yours,” she refused.

“It’s alright. I won’t eat all of this anyways.” He looked at her thin frame, “You look like you could use more food yourself.”

Katala laughed and accepted the bread. “I guess I deserved that. My mother says I eat too fast, and that’s why I’m so thin.”

They ate in silence for a while then Legolas continued, “I remember you from the burial. I never got to thank you for your kindness.”

“Oh, it was nothing. I … I know what it feels like to lose someone,” The tone of her voice dropped to a whisper. Legolas looked at Katala, tilting his head, “My … my father died a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Legolas said and handed her another piece of bread, but she held her hand up to refuse any more, “Was it orcs?”

“No, he got the fever and never recovered,” She paused and met Legolas’ eyes, “Is it true that elves do not get sick, and that you don’t feel the cold?”

“I guess so. The same things that affect human do not affect elves, but I wouldn’t say that we do not get cold. We are just more tolerant,” Legolas explained.

Katala was a good distraction for him. She asked him many questions about elves and being elvish. It made him feel good to be able to answer her, and he realized that he would never forget his heritage, even without Elhadron to teach him.

With the food gone and both relaxed in each other’s company, Legolas stretched his legs out in front of him, and Katala did the same. He laughed to himself at the way she mimicked some of his movements. At first, he thought she was annoying, but now the elf saw that she was only curious about him, and maybe he felt the same about her.

“Legolas?” Katala asked.

“Hmm.”

“Do you remember your father?”

“Oh yes, very much so. He was a warrior in Mirkwood, very tall with broad shoulders and a stern face that would frighten the enemy just to look at him. But when he was with me, his features were so different, much kinder of course. He always spoke with a soft voice and his smile was most radiant.” As Legolas told Katala about his father, he looked off into the distance as if he could see him standing amongst the trees, “What about you? Do you remember your father?”

Katala smiled and nodded. “He was the most wonderful father. He used to take me on outings sometimes. Mother would always complain, and tell him it was too dangerous, especially during recent days, but Father and I would sneak off to the apple trees. He’d sit me on his shoulders so I could reach the higher fruit. Then he would carry me home that way. It felt like being atop of the highest mountain,” she laughed. “Well, it seemed like that when I was so little.”

“Katala,” someone called from the distance. She looked up to see her mother.

“I have to go, Legolas, but I enjoyed talking with you.”

Legolas gave a half smile. “Yea, so did I.”

Katala started to trot off to her mother, but stopped and looked back at Legolas. “I think I heard someone say we would arrive at the Beorning’s house tomorrow. Maybe you can ride the rest of the way in the cart with me.”

He nodded as his booted foot smoothed away the dirt drawing of a beech tree, “Yea, alright then.”

Katala spun on her toes and ran to her mother. Legolas figured it was time for him to get back too, and made his way to Sefa and Folvar.

* * *

Riding in the cart was not exactly to Legolas’ liking. It was bumpy and jostling, as they seemed to run over every rock and root on the road. He preferred riding on horseback where he could see further, and felt a little more in control, even though Sefa was usually at the reins. He remembered Elhadron complaining about men’s practice of saddling their horses. Elves rode bareback, wanting to give their beasts as much freedom as they could. Legolas swore that when he was older, and finally had his own horse, he would do the same.

For now, though, he rode with Katala in the cart, half filled with sacks of wheat, a gift for the Beornings should they allow the Woodsmen a refuge. Legolas had heard stories of these strange men, but had never seen one and asked Katala about them, “Have you ever seen one before?”

“No, but my father did when he was young. It was many years ago, the last time our people abandoned their home. He said that they are like giants with scraggly black hair and black beards. They are very gruff and large-muscled, but they are also quiet solitary men. But the most amazing thing is their ability to shape-shift.”

“You don’t actually believe that do you?” Legolas said, shaking his head with a laugh.

“And you don’t?” Katala countered. “It’s true you know. They can change form from a man to a bear. It’s one of the reasons why the orcs will not come near their land. They fear the great bear-men and they should. Though they may seem like gentle giants, they are actually quite ferocious fighters when provoked. They wield huge axes, very sharp and deadly. Just one swing can cut the enemy clean in half.”

“I do not doubt their strength or their deadliness in battle, but I’ll believe their form-shifting abilities when I see it,” Legolas laughed to himself.

There wasn’t much to do while riding in the back of a cart, but Katala and Legolas managed to invent their own form of entertainment using a handful of pebbles that she picked up along the way. There was a hole in the bottom where a knot in the wood must have fallen out. They took turns trying to toss their pebbles into the hole. If it didn’t fall through, then they scrambled for the small rock hoping to capture it, allowing the winner more chances at completing their accomplishment. Legolas discovered that Katala was a ruthless game player, often bumping his hand away and gaining the pebble for herself. The pair of friends laughed as they battled for keeper of the missed pebbles. One small stone bounced to the back of the cart and they jumped from their seats on the wheat sacks, crawling and pushing each other away. Katala reached for it first and had her hand on it. Legolas grabbed her wrist and tried to pry open her tight fist, both laughing uncontrollably. Suddenly, the cart took an unexpected bounce due to a large pothole in the uneven road. It knocked Katala off her knees and onto her back. Legolas ended up landing on his stomach next to her, bumping his head on the floor. He sat up and reached for his forehead. Katala, instantly worried, sat up next to him.

“Are you alright? Move your hand and let me see,” she said with concern.

He moved his hand and she looked closely. He was not bleeding. The skin was only scraped, but reddened. While she focused on his head, Legolas examined her at a closer angle. She was a year younger than he was, but she acted much older. Perhaps she had to grow up quicker than other girls her age, due to having no father. 

“Is it bad?” Legolas asked.

“Not right now, but you’ll probably end up with a good sized knot on your head.” As she finished examining him, her brown eyes met his shining blue ones and they froze as curiosity took over their thoughts. Katala looked away and moved to the sacks, leaving Legolas sitting on the floor. “You’ll be alright,” she said nervously.

Legolas remained on the floor of the cart, leaned up against the side and brought his knees to his chest. He wasn’t sure what these strange feeling were. He’d never thought of Katala as anything but a friend. Being so close to her, and looking into the depths of her eyes made something change between them, but he wasn’t sure what or why. Perhaps it was some internal elvish intuition, he wondered. If he stared too long, would he hear her thoughts? Strange that he should think he could do anything of the sort. Still, he couldn’t forget the fact that it felt nice to be so close to her. Katala knew things about him that he had not shared with anyone else. In return, she hadn’t said a word. He trusted her, perhaps more than he trusted anyone, besides Sefa and Folvar. It was satisfying to know he could rely on her.

Eventually they settled into a comfortable togetherness, letting the small incident drift away, forgetting the gaze they shared. They were young yet, and these unexpected happenings tended to be dismissed quickly from their youthful minds.

The cart slowed and the riders at the back of the caravan hurried to the front. Legolas and Katala went to opposite sides of the wagon and leaned out over the edge. “I think we’re here,” she informed, and they settled back onto their sack seats.

Legolas sighed and looked at Katala, finding her calm and unconcerned about meeting these giant bear-men with sharp axes, “I hope you’re right about them being friendly.”

Katala laughed, “Legolas, you worry too much.”

They waited until the adults called them. Then they hopped down from the cart and made their way with the other villagers to the home of the Beornings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews feed an author's soul. Please leave a comment for this starving artist.


	7. Grimbeorn

Legolas walked between Sefa and Folvar as they approached a wide ring of tall thick hedge. There was a small entrance before them, an archway constructed of wood, but no gate and no guards. The villagers halted a little ways before the hedge, afraid to go too close. Legolas stretched his neck and used his keen vision to try to see through the entrance, but all he found were pine trees just beyond the arch.

Folvar signaled to the rest of the people to stay where they were while he went to speak with Grimbeorn, son of Beorn, and new chieftain of the Beornings. The Woodsman nodded to his wife, Sefa, and she took a step forward. Legolas grasped her arm, fearful of his foster parents leaving him. She smiled and kissed his head, “I think it is best if you stay here with the other’s until we properly announce ourselves. The Beornings are not fond of visitors, but they know the Woodsmen and trust us more than any stranger.”

Legolas released her arm and disappointedly took a few steps backwards. Sefa looked to Katala’s mother, who was closest to Legolas. “Will you . . .?”

The woman nodded with a kind smile upon her lips and laid a hand upon the elf’s shoulder. Legolas looked on with concern for his sudden abandonment, but Katala came up next to him, “It’s alright. They won’t be long.” She looked down and watched his fingers twist together and separate nervously. She reached out and took one of his hands, lacing her fingers with his. Legolas looked at their joined hands then to Katala, a sweet smile meeting his worried eyes. He calmed instantly, and turned his attention back to Sefa and Folvar, as they stepped through the archway and disappeared.

Eventually, Sefa and Folvar came back and told the other’s it was alright, but to leave the wagons, the horses, and their belongings where they were. The Beornings would take care of their things while the group of villagers came into Grimbeorn’s home for food. Everyone walked calmly towards the entrance.

Legolas stepped through the wooden archway and noticed the deep green well-manicured lawn and tall pines that looked as if they had been deliberately placed around the inside of the hedge. A stone pathway led towards another ring of foliage, blueberry bushes to be exact. Past that, the stone pathway led to a very large elongated log cabin with a tall thick wooden door at its center, windows lining the sides, and a sturdy wood-shingled roof. From left to right, it looked as though the building stretched a mile wide.

He was halfway between the blueberry bushes and the cabin, when Legolas saw the thick door begin to open, creaking on its hinges as it did. His eyes widened as he looked upon the grand figure of a man stepping through, arms outstretched as he welcomed the villagers with a low deep rumbling voice. He was at least two heads taller than Folvar. This was Grimbeorn, chieftain of the Beornings. Just as Katala had explained, he had thick black hair that hung down below his shoulders, and a matching beard and mustache. Dark bushy eyebrows were set above russet brown eyes, and a bulbous nose finished off his features. He wore a long wool tunic that ended just above his bare knees, and belted at the waist. The tunic was sleeveless, and exposed the man’s large muscled arms that looked as if he could crush the skull of a troll with ease. Grimbeorn truly was a giant, Legolas thought, and he was glad the Woodsmen were on friendly terms with him.

“Welcome! Welcome, my Northman kin!” Grimbeorn crooned in a baritone voice that sounded like thunder rolling. “Please, won’t you make yourselves at home? I’m sure you are quite exhausted after your journey.”

Legolas looked up at the giant as he passed by, and his hood slipped back from his head. Grimbeorn glanced down at the youth with a smile, but his features froze briefly when he saw the pointed tips of Legolas’ ears protruding through his fine straight hair. The elf noticed the man’s hesitation and looked away quickly, grabbing for the hood of his cloak. Sefa, who had seen the exchange, pulled Legolas to her side.

“He is with Folvar and me,” she said quietly.

Grimbeorn looked at Legolas once more and then back to Sefa who spoke, “My husband will explain once we are settled.” She walked through the doorway, hoping the chieftain would not stop and pull her to the side. When he did not, she sighed with relief. Neither she nor Folvar mentioned that they brought an elf with them. It was not a bad thing, but the Beornings liked to know every bit of business before allowing any outsiders into their home. The couple would no doubt have to answer Grimbeorn’s questions later.

The hall was massive in height as well as length. The vaulted ceiling was made of wide wooden planks with beams that stretched from one side to the other. Wood columns supported the roof, and looked like enormous trees standing in a row on each side from front to back. The hall’s windows were covered by slatted shudders, allowing very little light in. There were no wall decorations such as tapestries or weapons, and no furniture, except for several long tables that lined the middle of the hall. The tables had tree stumps for chairs, wide enough to support the huge Beornings. Half way down the hall, there was a fire pit, and open vents in the ceiling above to let the smoke escape. There was no metal, no gold and no carvings depicting any scenes. Everything was plain and simple.

As the people filtered in, they found seats at the tables. Once a table filled up, the Beorning women came in through two sets of doors on the right side of the hall. They carried trays of fruit and honey-cakes, which they placed on the tables. Then they gestured to the people to help themselves.

Legolas watched these unusual women. They were as tall as the Woodsmen—some were taller—and had black hair like Grimbeorn, but smoother and longer. Their features were rather man-like, with thick eyebrows, and the same globular nose and flared nostrils. They wore similar tunics made of wool, but they hung just below the knee. None of the Beorning women wore shoes, unlike the men who wore boots with straps that wrapped around them. They were sturdy looking women, big boned, tall and broad shouldered. They looked as if they needed no protection by their men, and could fight just as ferociously. Legolas hoped never to find out. 

He followed Sefa, and sat next to her at the second table they came to. The tree stump was a good distance away from the table and he was a bit uncomfortable. Katala came up to him and smiled, “Can I share a seat with you? It will free up another seat for someone else if we sit on the same stump.” Her mother sat at the table across from Sefa, smiling as she watched the children interact.

“Sure,” Legolas answered and moved over, though he didn’t need to. There was room for a third person on the tree stump, should someone not be able to find a place to sit. Finally, Folvar joined his wife and the table filled to capacity. The Beorning women came in with their trays full of goods, set them down, and gestured to the guests to eat. Legolas took a handful of grapes and handed them to Katala. Then he took blueberries for himself. They traded a few of their fruit so that they each had a combination.

Katala looked up and around as she popped another grape into her mouth, “It is rather dark in here the shudders covering the windows.” She twitched her nose, “and the smell of smoke tickles my nose.”

“I can hardly see to the other end of the hall from here.” Legolas leaned back, and looked around behind Katala, narrowing his eyes, “I wonder what all goes on in this room.”

Katala followed Legolas’ sight, but she could see nothing, “I wonder if this is where they gather and turn into bears.”

Legolas sat up straight again and regarded his friend, “Do you still believe that tale? I think they dress in bear skins and prowl around the woods.”

“Believe what you want, Legolas, but I think it is true, and I bet they can be very dangerous in a bear state.”

“Well if it is true,” Legolas challenged, “then where are the animal servants? Where are the dogs that walk on two legs and balance a tray on their paws? Where are the goats who serve tea?”

“We do not use the animals as servants anymore,” said a deep voice from behind them.

Legolas and Katala slowly turned their heads, and came face to face with a pair of legs that looked as thick as tree trunks. Grimbeorn had walked up behind the children as they were talking and overheard Legolas’ doubt. “My father Beorn kept the animals and employed them as such, but when I became chieftain, I gave them the choice to stay as servants or not. Now their children and their children’s children roam my land freely, though if called upon they will gladly help.” Grimbeorn was amused by their jaw-dropped expressions, as he caught them off guard. He gestured to the food on the table, “Might I suggest a honey-cake? They are said to be the best by far, and I must agree.” He smiled down at the pair of friends then moved on to Folvar and leaned down, speaking in his ear. Folvar nodded and turned to Sefa.

“I shall return in a bit. He has some things that he’d like to discuss with me.” Folvar kissed his wife on her offered cheek and smiled to Legolas before he followed Grimbeorn through a door on the opposite side of where the food came from.

Legolas watched them go, and then turned back around. He slumped forward with a worried expression. Sefa took notice and brushed his hair from his shoulder. He looked at her with his bright blue eyes. “They are going to talk about me, aren’t they?”

Sefa furrowed her brow, “What makes you think that?”

“I saw Grimbeorn’s surprise when he realized that I was an elf,” Legolas said quietly.

“But the Beornings have no dislike of the elves,” Katala chimed in, after listening to their conversation.

“Katala, we should give them some time to themselves,” her mother said from across the table as she stood.

Katala jumped down from the stump, “I’ll see you later, Legolas.”

He nodded and watched her walk off, wishing he could go with her. Sefa covered his arm with her hand. “I am sure there are many things they have to discuss, and an elf amongst a village of Woodsmen will be the least of them.”

“I wish we could just return home,” he murmured.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Sefa sighed, “I wish that too.”

* * *

Folvar followed Grimbeorn, stepping through a door that led to a courtyard out back. Behind the long wooden cabin, the Beornings grew many different kinds of gardens, vegetables, herbs and flowers. White stone pathways separated the different gardens and allowed for easy access. Further down, at the far end of the immense house, was where the Beorning kept bees. There was row after row of pine boxes with bees buzzing around them. It was obvious that these people were well educated in the making of honey, as well as farming. Everything that thrived in this area was edible. This was because they did not eat animal flesh of any kind, nor did they hunt or use animal skins or fur for clothing or other resources.   
Grimbeorn led Folvar along one of the many pathways, away from the house where he was sure they could talk freely. Then he turned to the Woodsman, and crossed his large muscled arms over his chest. “Folvar, my friend, you did not mention that you brought an elfling with you. Why would you keep this from me? It would not have altered my decision to allow your people refuge, though I am quite curious as to where he comes from, and why he is with you.”

“I must apologize for not informing you upon our arrival, but the elf child is in my protection, and felt I had no other choice. As to where he comes from, it is quite a story.”

Grimbeorn shifted his weight from one side to the other. “I have some time. Perhaps you will start at the beginning.”

Folvar proceeded to tell Grimbeorn about Elhadron and Legolas, finding them near their territory, and learning about the destruction of Mirkwood. The Beornings had heard of the tragedy of Thranduil’s people, but thought all had perished. The chieftain was upset when he learned that the elf child’s only link to his heritage, Elhadron, had also passed on. “So you see, he is my responsibility,” Folvar finished.

“And what does a Woodsman know about bringing up an elf?” Grimbeorn asked. As they talked, he led Folvar to another area of the backyard garden where there was a fire pit surrounded by a ring of tree stumps. It was empty, but full of grey ashes and black soot covering the stones of the pit. The giant gestured for Folvar to sit and then joined him.

Folvar looked to the ground, the palms of his hands firmly planted on his knees. “I don’t know much, Grimbeorn, and that is for sure. What I do know is that the enemy has seen him and knows we harbored elves. It is the reason we fled from our home. Their numbers have increased. If we had stayed, they would have annihilated the village. I cannot even be sure that we will have a home to go back to. Now I am afraid that if the child stays with us, he will always be in danger.”

Grimbeorn looked at Folvar with compassion, “What were the wishes of his caretaker? That is where you will find your answer.”

“Elhadron was abiding by the last words of the boy’s father. He wanted Legolas taken safely away from the woods.” Folvar stopped and looked up at Grimbeorn, “I have done that. I cannot take him back to the village.”

Grimbeorn’s eyes widened as he sat up straight, a stern look settling on his face. “Are you suggesting that I take the elfling?”

Folvar could sense the chieftain’s hesitation. “I don’t know what else to do. It was a dangerous risk to bring him this far. I cannot bring him back to the village … if there is still a village to go back to. Your house is the safest place I know of. Your name alone strikes terror in the enemy. They dare not advance on your home. I can think of no better place for the boy.”

Grimbeorn twisted the hairs of his beard and thought before he responded. He sighed deeply, “If the enemy’s numbers have grown as much as you say, then I fear an attack will come regardless of our reputation, and especially if word reaches them about the elfling. However, this is not my only concern, Folvar. My people grow wary with each day that passes. The growing evil has put them on the defensive, and some have chosen to remain in their bear state for longer lengths of time. They are not only a danger to our enemies, but also to any outsiders who come into our territory … the elf included.” Grimbeorn leaned forward, his thick muscled arms coming to rest on his thighs, as he contemplated an answer. After some careful thought, he sat up straight again, and regarded Folvar with a shake of his head, “No, I’m sorry my friend, but I cannot take the elf child.”

Folvar slumped forward and slowly nodded, “I understand.”

“Why do you not take him to Rivendell or to Lothlórien where he can be with his own kind? That seems like the most rational choice,” Grimbeorn asked.

“I cannot do that. A rift had grown between the wood elves and Lothlorien. Even Rivendell was not a foreseeable alternative. Elhadron said that neither of these were an option, but more importantly, the boy’s father was against it. Now, Legolas is in my care, and I must honor the wishes of both his father and Elhadron. I would rather risk taking him back to the village before I would hand him over to either elvish realm.”

Both men grew silent as they tried to come up with a sensible solution. Folvar got to his feet and began pacing the white stone pathway. The whole situation bothered him tremendously. He and Sefa had become quite attached to Legolas. They loved him as if he was their own and they did not want to give him up, but knew they must do what was best for him.

“Have you given any thought to our cousins to the south, the Rohirrim?” Grimbeorn said after a considerable silence.

Folvar stopped pacing and slowly turned to Grimbeorn, “Rohan?” He shook his head as he looked away, “No, I do not think they would take him.”

“They have a great military force. They could train him to fight, teach him discipline, and raise him as one of their own warriors. If what you say about the boy is true, he is destined to become a strong soldier, and I can think of no better environment.” Grimbeorn did his best to get Folvar reconsider.

Folvar remained standing, staring at the ground. Finally, with a nod, he spoke, “What you say makes sense. Let me give this some thought.”

“If by that you mean how you will tell Sefa—” Grimbeorn added, but was interrupted.

Folvar smiled. “Aye, my friend, telling Sefa will be the most difficult thing. She absolutely adores Legolas, but we have discussed it once or twice. It will not come as a complete shock to her.”

* * *

“Folvar, what does King Théoden know about raising an elf?” Sefa argued. Folvar had finished speaking with Grimbeorn, and spent his time thinking about his decision. Now, he and his wife were in their quarters discussing Legolas and his future, while the boy was out playing with the other children.

“What do we know for that matter, but we have managed to integrate him into our society,” Folvar refuted.

“We had Elhadron then, don’t forget. We may have taught him how to fight, but Elhadron taught him about being elvish, and if we know anything of it now, it’s because of him.”

Folvar went to her and touched the side of her face with his fingers, “Sefa, my heart, you know we cannot take Legolas back with us. I wish it did not have to be this way either. I have become quite fond of him, and I know you have also.”

Sefa walked to their bed and sat on the edge. She folded her hands in her lap and looked forlorn, “Sometimes it feels as though he is my own, and I am finally able to know what it might have been like to have a child.” Tears formed and rolled down her cheeks.

Folvar rushed to her side, sitting next to her on the bed, and scooped her into his arms, “My sweet Sefa, I want nothing more than to give you what your heart aches for, but it wasn’t meant to be. And though I could not give you a child, you have never once left my side.”

“And I mean not to, ever,” She wiped away her tears and put on a brave face. A forced smile spread across her lips as she took her husband’s hands. “I trust you, Folvar, and if this is your decision, then so be it. I know you will only do what is best for Legolas.”

Folvar kissed Sefa and held her while they discussed plans to take Legolas to Rohan. They finally decided it was best if Folvar, Kular and Hafdan made the long journey, and the sooner they could leave, the better. Folvar would tell Kular and Hafdan in the morning, and they would arrange a time to leave. Once everything was established, they would tell Legolas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave feedback. *Special thanks to my beta Mindirith*


	8. By Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Mindirith for her beta work.

It had been a couple weeks since the villagers settled in with Grimbeorn and his people. They were, of course, very grateful for their temporary refuge, but anxious to return to their homes. The urgency to return spread throughout the Woodsmen, and even the children were becoming restless. There was not much to do at the Beornings village, and some began inventing new ways to keep themselves occupied. 

“Come on, Legolas,” Katala whispered as they snuck down the corridors of the Grimbeorn’s house, “We must hurry or we might miss it.”

Legolas followed her, stopping and hiding behind massive urns or hidden alcoves along the way. Each time, he would have second thoughts about what they were doing, but Katala would rush off to the next safe hiding place. Legolas was beginning to lag behind, and she was becoming irritated. “How do you know where you are going anyways?” he asked.

“I don’t,” she said and grabbed his hand, pulling him along the hallway and spying another huge urn. They stopped once more to catch their breath.

“We should not do this. It is not right. Let’s just go back to the guest quarters,” Legolas complained.

Katala put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Alright then, fine. We will go back. We will miss seeing the Beornings shape shift. We will not get our evidence and Ladnir will make us look like pathetic fools. Is that what you want, Legolas? Do you want to be labeled as a frightened little coward?”

“No,” Legolas responded angrily and crossed his arms, “Why did you agree to his challenge anyways?”

“Because he was sure we would not go through with it. That is why we need to do this. We have to prove him wrong,” she insisted. 

Legolas had done his best to avoid Ladnir so far, and Ladnir had ignored Legolas since that day on the road. Legolas had made it clear that he did not want any trouble, nor did he want to join the group of mischievous boys. Perhaps it was the fact that he stood up to Ladnir or maybe it was because Legolas was different, but the boys had left him alone … that was, until Katala got involved and aggravated the situation.

During one of the discussions amongst the children about the Beornings turning into bears, Ladnir approached Legolas about the topic. The elf said he did not necessarily believe the stories of the bear-men. Ladnir challenged Legolas to find proof that these were merely stories. Legolas declined and told Ladnir to find his own proof. Katala overheard part of their conversation and thought she’d help Legolas defend himself. This only made matters worse, and Ladnir came up with a plan. He dared Legolas to sneak off to the back gardens, wait until after the shape shifting, and then find some kind of proof as to whether it was true or not. Legolas was prepared to deny the contest and accept ridicule from Ladnir, rather than go against Sefa’s rules not to stray far from the guest wing, to play outside in the front courtyard, and never to go out after nightfall. Unfortunately, Katala interrupted and accepted the challenge, saying that Legolas was an elf and feared nothing. She got into an argument with Ladnir, and to stop the bickering, Legolas finally agreed to do the task, but only if she went with him. Now, however, he was beginning to second-guess his decision to do so.

“It can’t be much further,” Katala said, and she was right. At the end of the long hallway was a set of heavy wooden double doors. Leaving Legolas behind in the last alcove, she tiptoed to the corner and looked around the edge. There was another hallway lined with doors that ran vertical to the spot where they were now, but there was no one around. She turned and waved Legolas over. He poked his head out from behind a curtain, looked left and right, and then rushed to Katala on soft booted feet. They started to push on one of the wooden doors, but Legolas stopped her.

“Wait, Katala. What will we do if there are guards on the other side?”

“We will just tell them we were lost.”

“You have an answer for everything don’t you?”

Katala smiled and laughed quietly, “You catch on fast … for an elf. Now come on, let’s get this door open. It looks heavy.”

They pushed and the door did not budge. A second attempt and more muscle put into it, and the door started to open. Once it started moving, it seemed to open easier and when it was far enough, they slipped through.

Katala and Legolas found themselves on a veranda similar to the one at the entrance of the house. Potted plants hung from the rafters, strawberries from the look of it. Legolas’ stomach growled when his senses identified the sweet smelling fruit hanging just out of his reach. After living here with the Beorning people for that last few weeks, he had developed a craving for the succulent red berries and all the delicious treats the cooks made with them.

Katala nudged Legolas in the ribs to gain his attention. “Not now,” she said, knowing he was becoming distracted. They had left dinner service early, forgoing their meals in order to meet with one of Ladnir’s friends— or followers, as Katala liked to say— who gave them instructions for finding their way to the back gardens. There were several doors that led into the back yard, but only one that emptied to the courtyard where the shifting was said to take place. While it was early enough, they snuck to find a safe place to hide where they could watch the secret ritual.

The courtyard was a large grass covered area with white stone walkways laid out in a circular spider web design. Along the edges of the area were decorative topiaries with tulips springing from the ground at their rooted feet. Beyond this place, they could see a stand of pines. Legolas noticed them right away. He pointed, “There, that is where we should hide.”

Katala smiled, “I knew you would come around. We will make our way along the edge of the yard and use the topiaries for cover, just in case anyone comes out. Are you ready?”

Legolas nodded and crouched down ready to go, but Katala caught him off guard, and kissed him quickly on the cheek. He turned his attention from the trees to Katala, “What was that for?”

“Just because,” she answered, and their eyes locked as they did occasionally. The truth was, during the growth of their friendship, she had also developed an admiration for him. This was another reason she agreed to Ladnir’s contest. It was a chance to spend some time alone with Legolas.

Legolas was also beginning to wonder about the exchange that he felt when he captured her with his eyes. Most times, he could look at her and she seemed normal, nothing out of place, but every so often, they would connect when he concentrated on her. It wasn’t that he could not look away when this happened, but that he didn’t want to. He could hold her with no more than a fixed gaze. He had to admit that he liked this slight sense of power. With a flutter of his eyelids, the moment was gone and they were nothing more than two mischievous friends carrying out a dare.

“We’d better go,” Legolas finally said. Katala agreed with a nod. Legolas took her hand and they smiled at each other, then he led her off, into the courtyard.

They carefully made their way to the stand of pine trees and found the perfect place to hide, where the undergrowth helped to camouflage them. Legolas knelt down first, noticing that the dirt was damp. He stopped Katala before she got her skirt dirty. “Wait,” he called and took off the brown coat he had been wearing, laying it on the ground.

“Thanks,” she smiled shyly, and tucked her legs beneath her as she sat down, noticing that Legolas wore only a sleeveless jerkin and thin leggings. “Won’t you get chilled?” she asked. The nights tended to become a little cold.

“I’m an elf, remember. A night like this will not bother me, and besides, you don’t want to get dirt on your clothes. Your mother will wonder where you have been.”

They settled into their hiding place and remained silent, afraid their voices would carry across the courtyard. So far, it had been very quiet, not a soul around. It was also getting late, and they knew their parents would begin to wonder where they were. Katala started to worry, “Maybe you’re right, maybe we should go back. I did not think it would get so late. Ladnir said it happened just after the sun set.”

Legolas looked up in the sky and noticed a bright full moon, “They must go by the moon, not the sun. He probably lied, just to make sure we would get in trouble. I should have known better.”

“You did know better. It was my fault. I got you into this mess. Let’s just go, Legolas. I’m sure my mother is getting worried right about now and yours too,” she said concerned.

Legolas sighed, “Alright then, let me just—”

At that exact moment, the thick wooden doors that they exited through slowly opened, and the Beorning men strolled out wearing black robes. They hummed in low tones that harmonized and traveled around the courtyard filling it with their strange voices. Each man went to a section of the white path where two walkways crossed and stopped.

“What do we do now?” Katala asked worriedly.

“Now we see if they really do turn into bears.” Legolas’ voice was full of intrigue as he peered out from the underbrush.

Once each man had taken his place in the courtyard, they got down on their knees, tucking their legs beneath them, bent forward, and stretched their arms out on the ground before them. The humming continued, though it was muted now with their faces in their laps.

“Where are the women?” Katala asked.

“I don’t know. Perhaps they do not participate in the ceremony. This must only be for the men. Either that or the women do not change at all.” Legolas glanced over his shoulder, “Now, what are we supposed to bring back as our proof?”

“I don’t know.”

Legolas turned around to see her better, “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Ladnir never said. He was surprised that we would even attempt this, and he forgot to say,” she whispered.

“Katala, you were supposed to find this out,” he reprimanded, “Now what are we going to do, draw him a picture?”

“Don’t get angry with me,” she countered, “You didn’t have to go along with this.”

“I wasn’t going to go along with this. You volunteered us, remember?”

Katala looked past Legolas’ shoulder and gasped. “Look!” she whispered, shocked by what she was seeing. He whipped around and watched as the men started to convulse and shake. Their harmonious hums were changing over to growls. Something was happening beneath their black robes as they jumped and twisted on the ground. Legolas focused his sharp vision on their arms and legs, noticing black hair begin to spring out of their skin. Their fingernails and toes grew instantly, turning into claws. The men seemed to rise from the ground, and their robes fell away. Their beards seemed to spread down their chests, over their shoulders and beyond until they were covered in black hair. Then their faces began to grotesquely change as their round noses protruded forward and turn into snouts. It all happened so fast that the children could hardly believe what they were seeing. One by one, the robes fell away, and what was beneath was no longer a man, but the perfect form of a black bear. The growls became louder and more ferocious.

“Legolas, I’m scared,” Katala claimed.

“It’s alright. We will just stay where we are until they are gone,” he assured her, and put his arm around her.

The bear-men stood on their hind legs, stretching their heads high into the air. One by one, they let out a loud roar and walked to the center of the courtyard. They pawed and sniffed one another in greeting. When they were satisfied, they lowered themselves back on all fours and walked around each other. Finally, one bear-man, the largest of the group, stood up tall and looked out over his fellow bear-men. He roared and lifted a huge paw the size of a dinner plate, aiming it at the forest not far from where Katala and Legolas hid.

Katala started to panic, and her breathing became rapid, “They’ll see us!”

“Keep quiet and keep still. It will be alright,” he told her, but she seemed not to hear him. He watched her eyes dart around, as if looking for somewhere to run. He had to keep her calm or she would give them away.

“No, no Legolas, they will find us. We have to go. Please, I want to leave,” she pleaded.

Legolas looked back to the courtyard. The bear-men were starting to wander into the forest, some coming close to them. He could hear Katala’s rushed breath behind him. He had to do something, and he turned his attention back to her, “Katala, look at me,” he demanded.

She would not look, but remained focused on the approaching bears. Legolas grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Katala, please look at me,” he said in a kinder voice that earned her attention. Instantly, their eyes connected, and Legolas captured her stare, “Just look at me and nowhere else, alright?”

She nodded, as her brown eyes never left his blue ones. He started whispering in his native Sindarin tongue, something that she did not understand, but she felt herself calm as long as she kept focused on him. Her breathing slowed, and the panic on her face slowly washed away. Legolas gave her a small smile, his dimples becoming more prominent. Katala watched and found that she could not look away, no matter how badly she wanted to see if the bear-men were close. His hand came up and touched the side of her face. “How are you doing? Are you alright?”

“As long as I am with you,” she admitted. Without realizing what she was doing, she found herself leaning towards him.

Legolas felt a kind of flutter deep in his gut as he held Katala in his elvish gaze. His fingers traveled from her cheek to her chin as she leaned towards him, and he closed the distance. Now they were only inches apart, the sounds of the growling bear-men nothing more than background noise. For the moment, they seemed to forget the danger surrounding them.

“Legolas?” she asked innocently, “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“No, have you?”

“No, but I would like to … with you.”

“Alright,” he answered.

Katala closed her eyes. Legolas leaned in the rest of the way, and just before their lips touched, he closed his eyes too. Then they kissed, lips upon lips, hesitant and unsure of what to expect. It was soft and warm, such a private feeling to have those intimate parts touching. It felt like forever before they separated, but they came together again, this time allowing their lips to move together, a much more exciting experience. They separated again and when they met for a third time their lips parted, tasting much more of each other, feeling the moisture of each other’s breath, the tips of their tongues barely touching. This time when they separated, they each sat back and watched the other’s reaction.

Katala blushed to a perfect crimson, “That was nice, just as I always hoped it would be.”

Legolas smiled, “I liked it too, especially with you.”

Their eyes never left one another, and the bear-men went unnoticed while the growls became less and further away. “I think they are gone,” he whispered.

“I guess it really is true then,” Katala said, “They really do turn into bears.”

“Uh huh,” he answered, lost for words, and finding himself wanting to feel her kiss again. He bent towards her, hoping she felt the same, and found his heart beating a thousand times faster. They were so close, lips almost touching, hearts racing with anticipation, when suddenly there was a low threatening growl behind them. They turned to see a black bear padding on giant paws towards them, its brown eyes focused on Katala.

“Legolas?” Her voice came out as no more than a squeak as she huddled again him for protection.

Suddenly, Legolas jumped up from his spot, pulling Katala up by her hand, “Run!” he shouted, pulling her along with him.

She stumbled, her legs wobbling with shock and fear, but he dragged her along through the trees, “Get up and run!” he demanded.

It suddenly set in, and her mind cleared enough to get her feet moving. The bear stood up on its hind legs and roared, as if calling upon its brothers. Katala screamed, but she ran as fast as she could, which was still not fast enough.

The house seemed to get farther away as he went towards it. He picked up his feet and his pace quickened, his long flaxen hair trailing behind him.

“Legolas!” Katala screamed from behind. He turned to tell her to keep going, but she had fallen, and was struggling to get back up. The massive bear was getting closer, its white canines flashing in the moonlight. Legolas turned and rushed back to Katala just in time. He grabbed her arm and started to lift her, but she cried out, “I can’t! It’s my ankle! I think it is broken!”

“Then hop!” he demanded. “Just get up! Now!”

The bear was getting too close, and Legolas knew they could not get away, not with Katala’s injured ankle. He managed to get her to her feet, but she could hardly walk let alone run. He had no weapon and no other choice but to put himself between Katala and the bear. In that one moment, Legolas became fearless, willing to put himself in harm’s way to protect another’s life. He stood tall, taller than ever before, chest heaving, shoulders squared, determination set in his azure eyes. Looking over his shoulder, he called to Katala. “I want you to go as fast as you can and don’t look back. Get to the house and tell the others what has happened. Do not question my decision. Just go!”

Katala saw something primal in his eyes, and knew there was nothing she could say to make him come with her. She hobbled as fast as she could towards the house, afraid that at any moment she would hear his shouts of pain as the bear attacked him.

Legolas planted his feet in the grass and braced himself. The bear was charging him. A few more leaps and it would be upon him, “I’m not scared any more. If this is to be my time, then so be it,” he muttered under his breath. At the last moment, he closed his eyes and prepared to feel claws raking through his skin and teeth crushing his skull.

From out of nowhere came a bellowing voice, half words, half growl. The bear stopped just a few feet from Legolas. He opened his eyes, and the bear was crouched down in a submissive position at his feet. Legolas released the breath he was holding, and felt as though he would collapse. A large hand covered his bare shoulder, and he realized that he had left his coat behind. He looked behind him to find Grimbeorn towering above with narrowed eyes as he watched the bear. “This boy is a guest and you might know that if you hadn’t let your animal soul run wild. You must remember to maintain control even when in bear form. Now, off with you. Join the others and patrol the borders,” Grimbeorn commanded. The bear got to its feet and turned to the forest, slowly walking away and disappearing through the trees.

The large hand turned Legolas to face its owner. Legolas’ chest heaved in and out rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. Grimbeorn could tell the boy was frightened, “That was a very brave thing you did for your friend.”

Legolas was shaking and bewildered from the close call with the bear, but he found his voice, “I had no choice. She was injured and could not walk, but I knew if I distracted the bear, it would give her a chance to escape.”

“And so you put your life between her and the bear,” Grimbeorn added, “That is such a brave and noble gesture for someone so young.”

“I would do that for anyone to protect them. I will never run away. I will stand and fight. That is what my father would have done,” Legolas said proudly.

Grimbeorn cocked his head to the side. “Who was your father, Legolas?”

He looked down to the ground. “I . . . I am not sure of his name. I only ever called him Ada. When I spent time with my father, it was usually just him and I, or a few servants waiting by, and when they spoke to me, they referred to him as ‘your ada’. I never gave it any thought, until—” Legolas stopped and remembered what his foster uncle had told him as he lay bleeding in the rain. “Elhadron tried to tell me before he … before he died. Tharan, he uttered with his last breath, but I do not remember anyone calling my father that name. It doesn’t matter though. What I do know, is that my father was a brave and fearless warrior of Mirkwood. He fought to protect me, and sacrificed his own life in order to see that mine continued. That is why I took on the bear. That is what my father would have done.”

“Well, as I said, you were very brave, but foolish also. What were you two doing out here at this late hour? Your parents have been worried sick, and they came to me when neither of you came home,” Grimbeorn reprimanded.

Legolas did not answer right away. He couldn’t tell him that they did it on a dare, but he wouldn’t lie either. Maybe if he just didn’t tell the whole story. “We were just curious. We have never seen a shape shifting before.”

“Of course you haven’t. Not many have. It is a very private and dangerous ceremony, as you well know. You must be careful, boy. When some of my men turn into their animal form, they forget that they are human, and they can bring great harm to anyone they see as a threat. I hate to think what might have happened if I didn’t come upon you when I did.”

“I am sorry, Grimbeorn. It will not happen again,” Legolas apologized. He stretched his neck trying to see around the chieftain’s broad body, “Where is Katala? Is she alright?”

“She is shaken, but she will be fine. She’s with her mother right now. One of the healers is looking at her injuries. Come now, let’s get you inside so everyone knows you are safe.” Grimbeorn watched Legolas pass by, and then followed him into the house.

Sefa and Folvar were waiting inside, neither seeming too happy with the situation. Still, Sefa had a look of worry and relief on her face, as if she wanted to scoop Legolas up in her arms and hold him. Folvar looked quite angry though, and Legolas braced himself. He had never been in trouble, but he had seen Folvar correct some of the older boys during weapons training. The Woodsman had a way for getting his point across with strenuous punishment.

Legolas approached his foster parents, ready to hear whatever corrective actions they would put upon him. Folvar opened his mouth, as he shook his finger at him, but just before he could speak, Grimbeorn interrupted.

“I have had a talk with him, Folvar. I believe Legolas understands what he did wrong. He has just had a traumatic experience, and has learned his lesson. What he needs now is a good night’s rest. I would suggest handing out his punishment in the morning.” Grimbeorn gently pushed Legolas towards his foster parents. Sefa immediately began checking him over for injuries.

“Thank you for finding the children, Grimbeorn. I assure you they will not do anything like this again,” Folvar said, as he glared at Legolas.

* * *

Over the next few days, Legolas carried out his punishment of having to clean out the horse stables. Katala was restricted from seeing Legolas until her sprained ankle healed. And even though they did not get proof of the shape shifting ceremony, Ladnir left Legolas alone after hearing about his encounter with the bear. He came to the realization that the elf must be mad to fight a bear, especially when he heard that Legolas was weaponless.

Legolas learned a thing or two about himself that night. He knew he could stand in the face of death and accept whatever was handed to him. He could feel himself mature from the timid elfling into the first stage of becoming a warrior. He felt an internal strength weave itself throughout his being, as if he had armor beneath his skin. No one could see this mental durability, but he knew it was there. It pulsated through his veins, strengthening his muscles, and sharpening his mind. He was ready to train for the one thing he wanted most, to be as fierce as his father and face his enemy, to destroy those who took away his home and his family. They would all face the last wood elf and meet their death. One day, he thought to himself … victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please review. thanks for reading.


	9. Opportunity Arises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: Mindirith

Chapter 9 - Opportunity Arises

 

After the night in the courtyard, Legolas went to Kular, and asked him to help him train more rigorously. Kular discussed it with Folvar and it was agreed that after his duties in the stables in the morning, Legolas could train in weapons with Kular and Hafdan. The brothers together could teach him much about archery as well as wielding an ax. Hafdan knew a bit about swordplay and taught him a few skills, but it didn’t take long to see that Legolas’ talent lay with a bow.

“Arm up, Legolas,” Kular instructed him, as they practiced on their makeshift target, a stack of hay with an old sheet draped over it donning several painted red rings. Kular was getting tired of telling Legolas to keep his arm high enough so that his aim would be better. “Feet at shoulders width, right foot forward,” he commanded. Legolas did as he was told, “Now how does that feel?”

“A little awkward, but I will get used to it,” Legolas replied.

“Your body should make a T shape, arms always parallel to the ground. Your dominant foot is always forward and angled out. This will give you the best control over your body. Remember, it is your upper body that is engaged. Your legs and feet are only anchoring you to the ground. And there may be times when you must shoot from places other than the level ground, trees and horseback just to name a few. You will need every muscle from your waist to the top of your head to steady your shot.”

While Kular instructed him, Legolas could feel the muscles in his arms and back begin to burn. The bowstring felt as if it was cutting through his fingers, and he started to sweat. He was beginning to slip out of his stance, but he would not complain. He knew this was part of Kular’s plan.

“Legolas, arm up, boy,” Kular shouted again.

He did as he was told, but his muscles were beginning to shake. He couldn’t hold his position much longer. “When can I shoot?” he called desperately.

Hafdan came up next to his brother and chuckled under his breath, “I remember Pa forcing these exercises on us. I once stood like that for thirty minutes before he let me release my arrow.”

“Father was quite tough on us,” answered Kular, remembering the same things.

“Kular?” Legolas pleaded.

“Not yet, aye. Just another minute,” Kular answered.

“How long has it been,” Hafdan inquired.

“Forty five minutes by the looks of the sundial.”

“What? Are ya trying to kill the boy?”

Kular laughed. “He is an elf remember. He has a greater immunity to the pain. We must train him differently than our own, or he will never improve.”

Legolas could hear the brothers whispering, and wondered if they forgot about him. Just when he was about to gain their attention again, someone shouted his name, “Hi Legolas, you’re doing fine.” Katala had come to watch him train.

Her voice broke his concentration, and the bowstring slipped from his sweaty fingers. The arrow released with a thwack as it hit far left of the target, but the string whipped back in such a way that it cut his cheek, “Damnit!” he yelled.

Kular and Hafdan looked up to see what had happened, when they noticed Katala standing to the side. “A pretty girl will distract ya every time,” Kular said, when Legolas approached them.

Hafdan reached for the elf’s chin, turning his head to get a better look at the cut. “Let that be a lesson to ya . . . and in more than just archery, aye? Don’t let the girls distract you. They will always try, and for you it will be much more difficult.”

“What do you mean?” Legolas asked.

Hafdan leaned close and spoke quietly in Legolas’ ear, “Have ya not noticed, boy? All the girls … they sneak looks at ya when you pass by. Have you not heard the giggles? They’re all smitten, I tell ya.” Hafdan informed him.

The points of Legolas’ ears tinged pink, “I did not notice anything. Well, I heard the laughter, but I thought they made fun of me. Ladnir has made my life miserable since that night in the courtyard. I thought he was behind their laughter.”

“No, boy, the girls giggle like that when they’re flustered. They are all curious about the young elf with the long blond locks,” Kular laughed.

“Well, I don’t pay it any mind,” Legolas insisted, furrowing his brow.

Kular leaned in this time, “And what about Katala?”

The rest of Legolas’ face shaded to match his ears, “Katala is different. She’s my friend.”

Kular and Hafdan looked at each other and shared a devious smile. “Well,” Kular said, “all I’m saying is that friend or no, the girls will always be a distraction. That won’t always be a bad thing, and you’ll find out about that when ya grow a bit more, but just know that you must be in control of your surroundings.”

“I think I understand,” Legolas said, as he glanced over to where Katala stood.

“That’s enough for today,” Kular said, “Besides, you are due at the stables in a short bit. Go grab a bite to eat before your duties. Oh, and Legolas … ya did mighty fine today. Had my pa still been around, he would have been quite impressed.”

When Katala saw they were finished, she approached Legolas, and saw the cut on his cheek. “You’re hurt. What happened?”

“Nothing … bowstring bit me,” he smiled.

She took out a small cloth from the pocket of her blue skirt, and dabbed the blood where it started to trickle down from the wound. Legolas blushed for the third time, and moved his cheek away from her reach, “I’m alright. It’s just a flesh wound.”

“I have hardly seen you since that night,” she said.

“I’m sorry, I should have checked to see how you were recovering, but—”

“It’s alright. I can see that you have been busy.” She glanced over to the target.

“Hey, why don’t we go to the big oak after dinner,” Legolas said excitedly. The big oak was a tree in the front courtyard where Legolas liked to climb and sit amongst the branches. When they first arrived, he and Katala spent a lot of time there.

“Alright then,” she smiled. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Legolas watched her go back to the house, and then he gathered his belongings and went to the stables.

* * *

“I spoke to Grimbeorn this morning,” Folvar said to his wife.

“Oh no, what has happened?” Sefa asked worriedly.

“Word comes from Lothlórien. They are planning to siege Dol Guldur, and ask for aid. Most of the men in our village prepare to march. You know that I must join them. Grimbeorn is sending what men he can spare to the cause. I have spoken with him, and we think it is best that Hafdan, Kular and I travel with the Beornings, along the Anduin to Lothlorien. From there, we will march with the elves to Dol Guldur, and join our men along the way,” Folvar informed his wife.

“I don’t like this, but I know you must go.”

Folvar kissed her head, “At least I will feel confident with the women and children staying at the Beornings’ house. You will be well guarded here.” He stood up and walked to the window of their room, looking out over the courtyard with its pines and manicured hedges. “Sefa, I have been giving this some thought, and you know we will be close to Rohan when we travel to Lothlorien.”

Her eyes widened at the mention of Rohan. They had discussed it before. Legolas would be much better off with the Rohirrim, especially now, when their village separated, and the threat of the enemy always on their mind. Still, Sefa was not ready to send Legolas away yet, “You would take him there now, on the brink of war?” She shook her head in disagreement, “It is much too dangerous.”

“There is still time yet. If Hafdan, Kular and I leave soon, we can take Legolas to Rohan, see him settled, and then join the elves and our men in the march. I have spoken to Grimbeorn about this, and he has offered an escort to see us safe. We would be under the protection of the Beornings’. They would follow us to the borders of Rohan. It is just added protection for Legolas.”

“We have talked about this, and I know you are right, but must we send Legolas to Rohan now? Why can he not stay here with the women and children until it is safer to travel?” Sefa argued.

Folvar took her hands in his and squeezed them lightly, “You must understand that this is only the beginning of something much larger. Evil is growing. The Dark Lord’s reach is much longer than it ever has been before. He has been breeding an army that will destroy everything dear to us. This attack on Dol Guldur will put a festering wound in his plans. They will not be expecting it, but they will almost certainly retaliate. If there ever was a time to get Legolas away from all of this, it is now, before we attack. The enemy does not set its sights on the larger cities yet. Rohan is the safest place for him, for now.”

Sefa sat on a chair and put her head in her hands. Folvar was right, of course. They had discussed this many times before. She knew this day would come. She lifted her head, and laid her saddened eyes upon her husband, “I know you are right, and I knew this time would come, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I love Legolas as if he was my own son, and I know you do to.”

Folvar came to his wife’s side, and Sefa laid her head against his hip, “It breaks my heart to say this, but it is time he knew. Go and tell him, Folvar.”

* * *

Legolas finished his meal in record time so that he could be on his way to meet Katala at the big oak in the front courtyard. They hadn’t spent any time together over the past couple weeks. He was busy with training and his duties while she recovered from a twisted ankle. He wanted to talk to her about what they had seen that night. It was surely an amazing thing to witness as the Beornings men transformed into giant black bears. Mostly, he wished to kiss her again. It was such a strange and exciting feeling, and he wanted to know it once more, but only if Katala would agree. He thought of what Hafdan told him, about the girls all watching him. He hadn’t paid any attention before, but now he noticed that it was true. Some of the girls’ eyes would follow him as he passed them. Even now as he walked through the dining hall, he felt their stares. He admitted to himself that it was a boost to his young ego to know they admired him, though he questioned why. Many of the village boys seemed more rugged, broader and more mature than he did. Legolas was thin, but tall compared to human boys his age. His skin seemed pale compared to the others, though it did have a glowing hue to it, another elvish trait. His hair was long and very straight, reaching just below his shoulders. He kept it unbound now and only braided the sides when he trained to keep it out of his face. The things that made him different from the village boys, were they the things that intrigued the girls, he wondered.

Legolas had left the dining hall, and was hurriedly making his way to the front doors, when Folvar called to him. He turned and saw his foster father coming from the hall that led to the guest quarters, “Legolas, I’ve been looking for you. I need to have a word.”

“Can’t it wait? I was just going outside to meet with . . . to spend some time amongst the oaks,” he corrected himself. He suddenly didn’t much feel like telling anyone that he was going to meet Katala.

“I’m afraid this cannot be put off much longer,” Folvar said in a serious tone,

“If I have done something —”

“Nothing of the sort, Legolas. Come with me. The others are waiting.”

Legolas furrowed his dark brows, “What others?”

“You will see. Now, come,” demanded Folvar as his large hand pushed against Legolas’ back, leading him towards an office.

The door opened and there was Hafdan and Kular standing together, arms crossed with stern faces as they watched the elf enter the room. “What is the meaning of this?” Legolas asked, “What is going on?”

The three men came together and stood by Legolas, as if forming a circle around him. Did they expect him to dart away? He was very unsure of what to think at this point, and frantically glanced to each one. Folvar placed a hand upon his shoulder. “Legolas, you know how much we care for you and we have only ever wanted what was best for you. Elhadron made it well known that you must leave us one day. His plans were not to keep you in the forest. He wanted you to have the best chance possible.”

“What are you saying?” Legolas said defensively.

Kular spoke next, “Legolas, it is time for you to leave us.”

“But I don’t want to leave,” the elf argued.

Folvar continued, “Legolas, even your father wanted this for you. Elhadron told us of his plans to see you as far from the Rhovanion as possible. Your father made him promise this before he died. We have kept you with us because we must, but now an opportunity has opened up, a chance for us to abide by Elhadron and your father’s wishes.”

“What opportunity?” Legolas asked.

Hafdan took his turn to speak, “The men of the woods, as well as the Beornings’, are being called upon to help Lothlorien carry out an attack on Dol Guldur. Folvar, Kular and myself will lead the Woodsmen in this plight. And since we are traveling to Lorien, we have also realized that we will be closer to Rohan. Legolas, they are our kin, and we believe that this is the best place for you to live now. You will be far from the Rhovanion, and the enemy does not focus its attention on their city.”

“They will be able to teach you much in the ways of a warrior,” Kular continued, “The Rohirrim have established a great army. Their military is amongst some of the strongest.”

“Legolas,” Folvar said, as he stepped in front of him, “We have thought long and hard about this, and it was a difficult decision. Sefa and I have come to think of you as our own. Believe me, if we could, we would keep you with us, but our village is small. There is nothing for you there. Kular and Hafdan have informed me of your progress. You are destined to become a great warrior. You are the last of your kind, and I just know you have an important role to play in all of our futures. The men of Rohan will challenge you, and shape you into the soldier you are meant to be. As much as we love you, Legolas, you deserve a better chance than what we could give you.”

Legolas looked at each man and shook his head. “So you have decided this for me. Do I have no say in any of this? Maybe I don’t want to leave. Maybe I think this is where I want to be. I have lost my home and my family. I have lost my people. What does it matter that I am the last of my kind? Everything that has meant anything to me has been stripped away, and now you are telling me I must start over again. This makes no sense to me. I thought you cared, but I can see that I am only a burden to you. I don’t need this. I don’t need any of this.” Legolas finished his ranting, and pushed Folvar out of his way. The Woodsman was surprised to feel the elf’s power, even for one as young as Legolas.

“Legolas, please, let us discuss this,” Folvar called after him.

“Leave me alone!” he yelled back, and he stormed out of the office.

Folvar started after him, but Hafdan caught him by the arm. “Let him go. The boy needs some time to think about this. He will not see reason right now.”

Legolas burst from the office door, almost knocking someone down.

“Legolas, what—” It was Katala that he almost ran over in his hurry to leave, “Where were you? I was waiting for you and you never came.”

“Not now, Katala,” he demanded as he rushed down the hall.

“Legolas, wait!” she called after him.

“Leave me alone, all of you!” he shouted. He ran as fast as he could down the hall, and out of the large front doors. His heart raced as his legs carried him down the steps and across the soft grass. The oak tree was not far, close to the hedges, but now it seemed even further away. This was all he wanted now though, to be amongst the trees, outside in the fresh air, and as far away from everyone as possible.

Legolas got to the tree and jumped up, grabbing a low growing branch. He swung forwards and backwards until he had enough momentum to pull himself up, his long legs grabbing the branch for support. The further he climbed, the closer the branches grew together and soon it was very easy to navigate his way to the highest parts of the tree. When he could go no higher he stopped, his chest heaving in and out. The cool night air filled his lungs, smelling of pine and smoke from the Beornings’ campfires. Legolas closed his eyes and tried to remember the smells from his childhood. Moss and ferns came to mind, and the mustiness of the caves. Parchment paper and ink filled his memory. His father would hold him on his lap as he signed letters and such. The feel of the feather quill tickled his nose as his father often liked to tease him. Legolas could see his father’s large hands; one wrapped around his small waist and the other scribbling away, the quill leaving black runes on the paper. His father had smelled like the trees of Mirkwood, beeches and oaks, the freshness of the outdoors, crisp clear streams and moss covered rocks.

Though he was so young then, Legolas remembered some of the things about his home, and wished he were there now. If only the orcs did not come. If only Lothlorien came when they were called upon. Elhadron told him the stories and made it clear that the Noldor were not to be trusted. Legolas seethed as he looked out towards the mountains. “Maybe my life would have been different if my people had aid in fighting the enemy. My father might still be alive and I would be with other wood elves. I would never have come to know the Woodsmen or the Beornings, and I wouldn’t be passed off to the Rohirrim now. I wish I could just run away and make my own life,” he whispered to himself.

“Legolas,” called a motherly voice from below. “Legolas, I know you are up there. Please come down and talk to me.” Sefa learned of his outburst after Folvar and the others spoke to him and came at once. She peered up into the tree, but Legolas had managed to blend in with the foliage. “Won’t you speak with me?”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. Besides, what more is there to say? You plan to pass me on to Rohan. Let the Horse Lords have their turn to take care of the helpless elf.”

“No, Legolas, that is not how it is. Won’t you come down so we don’t have to shout from a distance?”

Legolas closed his eyes and sighed. It hurt his heart to reject Sefa. She had been like a mother to him. He didn’t remember his own mother, and Sefa filled a void somehow. He changed his accusatory tone to something kinder and more pleading. “Please leave me alone. I’m sorry, Sefa. I don’t want to disappoint you, but you can’t understand how I’m feeling right now. No one can.”

Sefa had heard enough. She may not be as nimble as an elf, but she could still climb a tree. Despite the fact that she was wearing a dress, she managed to find a path of low branches, and made her way up through the tree until she could see Legolas above her. He was quite high and she would not try to go all the way to him, but she could get him to come down, and meet her on the large branch where she sat now. “It’s been many years since I did this, Legolas, but I can climb a tree with the best of them. So now won’t you at least come down and meet me?” She could hear Legolas sigh as he was being forced to do something he didn’t want. Sefa looked out of the corner of her eye and there he was as if by magic. She laughed. “How is it you are able to move with such stealth?”

Legolas sat on the wide branch next to his foster mother, one leg dangling down, and the other one bent at the knee, his foot planted on the branch. He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I just do.”

“It’s one of those things that make you so unique. You know Legolas, I understand how bleak this looks right now. You think we do not want you. You think we are just handing you off to the next closest land, but you could not be further from the truth. My heart is breaking to know that I must let you move on. You are like my own son, the child I could never have.”

“And would you give away your own flesh and blood?” Legolas asked quietly.

“If it meant his safety and well-being, I would. If it meant a chance at a better life … I would. If it meant an opportunity for him to become the one thing that I know for sure he wants more than life itself … I would and I am. Do you know how much I argued with Folvar? I was against this idea from the very beginning, but I know what it is you want to become, Legolas. You will not find it here with the Woodsmen. The people of our village are proud, our men are strong, but it is not enough. You need a challenge. You are the last elf of your kind. Elhadron once said, if there was a chance of bringing back the wood elves, it lies with you.”

“But why Rohan, Sefa? Why so far from you and the others?” Legolas asked as her words began to make sense.

“They are our cousins just as the Beorning’s are. They hold many of the same values as us. They are a strong and courageous people, proud of their heritage, true to their neighbors. They love each other and respect those who respect them, but they will also fight to their dying breath to save those that they love, much like your father. I can think of no better people for you to live with now.” Sefa leaned towards him and kissed his temple. “Just know that you will always have a place here amongst the Woodsmen. Maybe someday you will return to us.”

In a rare moment for Legolas, he laid his head upon Sefa’s shoulder and shed silent tears. She cradled him against her and sang quietly into his ear, a song her mother once sang to her when she was a child, a song she had always wished to sing to her own child. When she was through, Legolas felt the need to open up, and tell Sefa what he remembered of his father. She listened silently and drew a picture in her mind of a tall and handsome unstoppable elf like those of legend. This was the reason she could not keep Legolas to herself. This was the reason she must share him with the world. “You are destined for great things,” she told him when he finished, “Now do you understand why we mustn’t keep you with us?”

Legolas looked to his lap and slowly gave his head a nod. This was a difficult thing to admit. He did not want to go, but he knew he must. As he had done so many times before, he donned a brave face for his foster mother, “I will make you proud, Sefa.”

“Legolas, are you still up there?” Katala called from the ground below the big oak.

Sefa smiled, “I have kept you too long. Go and be with your friend.”

Legolas gave her a hug and quickly made his way down through the branches as if they were nothing more than a set of stairs. She laughed to herself as she admired his nimbleness. Soon he was standing beside Katala. She pushed his shoulder and he pushed her back playfully. Sefa shook her head and watched them walk off together, “He will break more than a few hearts when he is grown.”

“What happened, Legolas?” Katala asked worriedly. “You ran off so fast, which was quite rude.”

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to behave in such a way. I have to talk to you about something.”

They made their way around the circular hedge until they came to a row of pines. As they walked, Legolas told her that he was leaving soon. This was the last thing Katala wanted to hear. She had become good friends with him. He was her first and only kiss. He had saved her from the bear, and now she may never see Legolas again, “I just don’t understand. Why can’t you stay with us?”

“I just have to. I don’t like it any more than you do, but after talking to Sefa, I think I understand why this is happening.”

“Will you come back after your training in Rohan? Maybe that is why they’re sending you away. You could come back and teach the others new skills,” she said, hoping she was right.

Legolas shook his head, “I do not know if I will ever return. I don’t know anything, Katala, but I do know that I will miss you.”

Her eyes pooled with tears, “I will miss you too, Legolas.” She laid her head on his shoulder and tears streaked her face, the realization that she might never see him again finally settling over her.

He lifted her chin so that he could look at her face, “You can’t cry anymore, alright?”

She wiped the moisture away and forced a small smile, “I know.”

Legolas smiled with his eyes and tilted his head as he came towards her. His lips pressed against hers, tasting the saltiness of her tears. Their hearts beat quickly as they shared one more simple sweet kiss, always to wonder what might have been. Although they spent most of the rest of their time together, that was the last time they shared a kiss and neither one would ever forget.


	10. Rohan

It was a long journey for Folvar, Hafdan, Kular and Legolas, but one of necessity. Grimbeorn ordered a few of his most trusted men to go with them, but at a distance. Only a few times during the journey did they make their presence known, when orcs were spotted near the men’s camp. Legolas did not see them, but he heard their bear growls late into the night, as they kept a watchful vigil over them. The other Beornings and Woodsmen went on to join the Noldorin elves on their way to Dol Guldur. Folvar and his men would meet up with them after taking Legolas to Rohan. Then, if they were successful, they would return to their families and go back to their village in the woods.

They had stayed to the east of the Anduin River for most of their travels. Now, they were coming close to the borders of Lothlórien, where they would cross by ferry just to the south of the elvish realm. As the travelers passed the Golden Woods, Legolas caught a glimpse of a group of elves across the river, standing guard at their docks. His heart raced upon seeing others of his own kind. They were extremely tall, and seemed to illuminate the place where they stood upon the shore.

“The Noldor,” Legolas muttered to himself. A part of him wished to brave the rushing current of the great river and join them on the other side, but Elhadron’s scornful words against the Lorien elves rang though his head. ‘They only long to get back to their secret land across the sea. To them, Middle-earth is a punishment that they must endure until they hear the call to come home.’ Legolas kept these thoughts to himself. How could they see Middle-earth this way? Legolas loved this land. He wanted to see it grow and prosper. He wanted to see evil demolished, and he wanted to be a part of that. This was not a punishment, but an opportunity to experience something great. He quickly buried his feelings of wanting to be with other elves, and focused on the road ahead. Still, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, just to see them one more time, but they had already vanished from the docks.

* * *

Near the end of their journey, they came close to a forest unlike any Legolas had ever seen. It was very dark and mysterious, and he could feel the men shudder as they gazed upon it. The landscape of flat plain ended abruptly at a wall of close growing trees. He wondered what it was about the place that seemed to have the men on edge.

“What lies in there?” Legolas asked.

“That is Fangorn Forest. It is full of many perils, but not from anything that you might know,” Kular said in a hushed voice, “Inside there, the very trees come alive. They are said to hate anyone who passes beneath their boughs, and will attack without a thought. No one that has entered there has ever come out … a dangerous place that should be avoided.”

Legolas listened to Kular’s accounts of Fangorn, but he did not sense this himself. He narrowed his eyes and peered into the forest as far as his vision would allow. A strange low rumble emanated from beyond the shadows, almost as if the trees called out to him. Without warning, he jumped down from Folvar’s horse, “Elhadron told me stories of Fangorn. There were shepherds said to be older than the elves who used to walk amongst forests filled with their own kind. The elves did not fear them though. They befriended the trees and taught them to speak.” As he talked, he began walking towards the tree line, “I sense no fear either. Actually, I’d very much like to see one of the Onodrim.” 

Folvar pulled on the horse’s reins, and came in front of Legolas to stop him from going any further, “Aye, Legolas, I will not allow you to go in there.” His voice was very stern and tinged with fright for the young elf, as well as for himself.

Legolas stopped but remained focused on the forest as he tried to steal glanced around Folvar’s horse, “Do you not feel something coming from within? It is not hatred … curiosity maybe.”

Kular nudged the sides of his horse and went to Legolas. “It could be a trick, young one,” the man said as his flesh broke out into goose bumps, “It’s best if ye pay no mind to that place, aye. I can promise that if ye go in there, we will not follow.”

“Kular!” Hafdan scolded.

Kular gave his older brother a serious look. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? The boy should know of the dangers that lie within. We go in there,” he pointed, “and we don’t come out again.”

Legolas was surprised by his humorless expression. Kular had never sounded so severe. Not wanting to upset the men any more, Legolas turned back to the horses, “I will not go,” he assured them, “but I will not forget this place. Something draws me to it.” He went back to Folvar and leapt up onto the horse, situating himself behind the man, but he looked back and regarded the trees once more. He thought he saw movement, as if the trees leaned towards his direction, and the low rumble slowly faded to silence.

* * *

The riders crossed the River Snowbourn, traveling along a stony road. Ahead was Edoras, capitol city of Rohan and home of King Théoden. Almost to the city’s gate, the path led them between two rows of barrows, nine to the west and seven to the east. Each mound was covered in white blossoming vines. The men slowed their horses and passed in silence.

“These are the graves of past kings,” Folvar informed Legolas once they were through the barrows, “To the right are the kings of the first line and to the left are the kings of the second. Thengel was the last to be placed with his forefathers. Now, King Théoden rules this land. He has a son a few years your senior. I’m sure he can teach you much about Rohan and their customs.”

Legolas remained silent, but looked off towards the great wall that surrounded the city. It was very tall and made of wood. The elf wondered how it was not easily breached until he noticed the thorns at the top. Should someone climb the wall, the large spikes would stop their advancement.

They approached the gate, and Folvar jumped down from his horse, walking to the gate guards. Hafdan and Kular stayed back with Legolas and waited. After speaking with the guards, Folvar came back and climbed onto his horse once again. “We have permission to enter,” he said to the others, and they went through the gate.

The pathway inside was paved and much more even than the one leading up to the great wooden wall. The land here sloped up, and the path wound its way along a small stream. There were many houses dotted around the area, wooden homes with thatched roofs that reminded Legolas of the huts in the Woodsmen village. People came out of their houses to see who the new visitors were. Legolas felt slightly self-conscious and pulled his cloak around him.

At the crown of the hill sat a great thatched house. This was Meduseld, the Golden Hall. It sat on a platform high up in the center of Edoras. At the base of the platform, green grass grew and sloped down and away from the house. Legolas thought it seemed rather inviting at first. As the sun shone down, the golden roof shined in the light, like a beacon calling its people home. On a day like this, it could be seen from miles away.

The path narrowed and the riders left their horses with handlers who would take them to the lesser stables, while the men met with the king. They reached the end of the pathway and approached a set of broad stairs that led to a wide breezeway running along the length of the front of the house. Benches dotted the area, perhaps as a meeting place for the residents or the king himself.

The three men and Legolas climbed the stairs side by side, meeting another set of guards at the top. Legolas studied their uniforms. The chest plate was designed with small overlapping metal disks reminding him of fish scales. Thick leather pads covered their shoulders. A simple metal helm covered their heads with plates covering their ears and another covering the nose, which was shaped like a horse’s head. Each guard had a sword sheathed at his side and held a long spear in his hand. They stood still as pillars, watching every move the visitors made. Folvar announced their arrival. The guards then pushed on two massive wooden doors, each decorated with a mighty horse rearing up on its hind legs. Folvar turned to his companions, and with a nod, they all proceeded through the doors.

The hall was long, wide and richly decorated with the heritage of the Rohirrim. Upon the walls, hung faded tapestries depicting the kings of old. Between the tapestries, were windows stretching midway up the wall and ending close to the vaulted wood beam ceiling. Today the windows were open, allowing a cool breeze to flow through.

Along the length of the long hall, great wooden pillars, painted with red and gold designs, lined both sides from front to back. They were decorated with carvings of beasts and men, telling a story that was no doubt common knowledge to the residents. At the top of each pillar was a giant horse head leaning out over the hall below, watching all who entered under their roof.

In the center of the hall was a large hearth very much like the fire pit within the Beornings’ house. Above at the very center of the ceiling and above the hearth was a set of louvers from which the smoke could escape. Next to the pit, sat a comfortable looking couch where Legolas imagined the king or his family would sit and enjoy a private relaxing moment.

Between the walls and the pillars sat heavy long wooden tables with a bench on each side. It was obvious that the hall was used for many different purposes, dining as well as receptions and important ceremonies. The hall was enormous and Legolas was in awe.

The men and the elf walked forward until they came to the south end where there was a dais and upon it the king’s throne. Legolas examined it carefully. It seemed simple compared to what he thought it might look like.

He had a sudden memory of the throne room in Mirkwood. Sometimes, his father spent time with him there. The memories hadn’t surfaced in a very long time, but he remembered seeing a simply made wooden chair. Legolas had asked his father why the king did not have a large luxurious throne decorated with gold and precious gems. He told him that it was not the throne that made the king important, but rather the man himself, and the respect he earned from his people. Some kings decorated their thrones quite extravagantly, and showed off their wealth, but they were usually weak men.

Legolas wasn’t sure what he had expected to see now, perhaps a golden chair with plush cushions sitting upon a high alter. What he found was a simple wooden high back chair with detailed carvings. The arms of the chair were carved in the shape of two horses standing at attention, heads bowed. Beneath the throne lay a deerskin rug, and to the side, sat a small wooden table. Upon the back of the chair were carved circles within each other, and Legolas was reminded of the round maze of white stone pathways in the Beornings’ garden. All lines led to the center, very much like Edoras, with its circular protective wall, and the Golden Hall at the city’s center. And within that hall was the king with his simple throne. Legolas smiled to himself. Théoden must be a good king then.

The wall behind the throne was the most extravagant place in the hall, with its carved pillars and arches … curved designs that seemed to have no beginning and no end, etched into the wall. Three brightly colored flags, red, blue and black, hung neatly in a row. Each one depicted a white horse and a golden sun, made of velvet, very detailed and rich looking.

Legolas stood close to Kular, carefully hidden beneath his long hood and cloak, and watched as a door to the right of the dais slowly opened. Out walked King Théoden dressed in red robes embroidered with gold down the front, on the sleeves and high collar. He looked older than his years, not what Legolas expected, especially after having known the younger men of the Woodsmen tribe. The elf became worried at the sight of the King’s creased brow and stern features. Surely, he was very set in his ways. What could he offer someone like Legolas, an elf and an orphan?

Folvar bowed respectfully as Théoden took a seat on his throne. The King’s shoulder length hair was streaked with grey and sun-bleached gold, and it fell into his face as he sat. He pushed it behind his ear and looked upon Folvar with a kind smile and dancing blue eyes. Legolas started to relax a bit.

“Folvar, it has been many long years since we have held counsel. What brings you to Rohan?” Théoden asked.

“I have quite a tale to tell you, and if you have the time, I would like to share it with you now. Perhaps by the end you can help me fulfill my mission, and my reason for this visit.”

Théoden looked Folvar over curiously, then glanced to the other two men, and what he thought was a young boy, hooded and cloaked, “You bring a youth with you, I see. Whose son might this be?”

“I am his foster father. He has no parents. Please sire, if I might explain?” Folvar went on.

“Very well,” Théoden answered, “Your men and the boy can have a seat while we talk. I’ll send for food and drink. I’m sure it was a long journey from your village.” He signaled to someone in the shadows.

Hafdan and Kular bowed, and led Legolas to the north end of the hall, near the door where they had entered. They sat at one of the long tables, allowing Folvar time to discuss their situation without listening in on the conversation. A young maiden came out from a side door, carrying a plate of bread and dried meat in one hand, and three mugs of ale in the other. She sat the tray carefully in the center of the table, and then proceeded to place a mug in front of each person. The men nodded and smiled, but Legolas looked curiously at the glass. He picked it up and sniffed it, recognizing the scent of barley and yeast. He brought it to his lips, when suddenly it was yanked out of his hands. He looked up to see Hafdan giving him a stern look. Then to the maiden he said, “Perhaps something less potent for the boy.”

The maiden apologized for the mistake. She hadn’t known he was a youth for he was hidden beneath his hood. He was rather tall though, and she thought he was older. Legolas tilted his head up to take a better look at the maiden. His crystal blue eyes met hers and she gasped slightly, caught off guard by their radiance, “I am sorry. I did not know,” she apologized, taking the mug, leaving them at once.

“He’s got to start some time,” Kular joked, leaning into his older brother’s shoulder.

Hafdan gave him a humorless look, “Not on my watch and not with this warg piss. This is for the older men, aye.” He turned to Legolas with concern, “When time comes, and soon it will living with the Rohirrim, wait for the honey mead. If you’re gonna start drinking, at least let it be worth your while.”

Legolas was not quite sure what Hafdan was talking about, but he nodded in agreement, folded his hands, and placed them in his lap.

Hafdan, Kular and Legolas sat silently and waited. They could not hear what Folvar or Théoden were saying. Only whispers and unenthusiastic moans came from the dais. Legolas’ acute hearing detected most of the conversation though.

“So you see why I came to you in this matter,” Folvar said, finishing his story.

Théoden wrinkled his brow, already deeply creased from years of riding under the strong prairie sun, “And so you are asking me to take an elf in under my roof? Folvar, I do not think I can do this. Already my house is full, as I have had to take in my sister’s children after her and her husband’s untimely deaths. And I have my own son to raise with no wife by my side. The last year has been a challenge for me. I cannot see how I could take another youth under my wing, and an elf no less.”

“I wish you would reconsider. I know Legolas is different, but he is a quick learner, and his fighting skills surpass that of any of our trainees. He is an elf, Théoden. He could be quite a hefty asset to your military.”

Théoden looked down the long hall to the two men and Legolas sitting at one of the tables, “I hadn’t considered that.” The King thought a moment about this strategy, but shook his head, “It does not seem right to think of him as a weapon. He is just boy of what … ten?”

“He is eleven now, but much older than that mentally, maturing at a quicker rate than humans. He has also been through much already in his young life. He has seen more death than some of my oldest villagers. He is the last wood elf, the last of his Mirkwood kinsfolk. I have already told you my reasons for not taking him to Lothlorien or Rivendell. Now that you know his story, I know you would abide by his family’s wishes also. Please, King Théoden, I cannot keep him with me for fear of his safety, and there is no one else I trust with his well-being more than my own cousins to the south. I think Rohan is the perfect opportunity Legolas needs to further his skills. He is a decent boy, smart, courteous and brave,” Folvar pleaded.

“They are taking an awfully long time, don’t you think?” Kular whispered to his brother.

“Well, you don’t expect the King of Rohan not to have questions do ye?” Hafdan answered.

Just as they finished speaking, they saw Folvar and Théoden stand and walk towards them. The brothers immediately got to their feet. Kular reached down and pulled Legolas to his. The elf buried himself in his cloak.

Théoden stopped in front of Legolas, who was completely wrapped up in his garments and looking at the ground, wishing he could disappear altogether, “Let me have a look at you, boy.” Théoden’s voice was soft and even toned. Legolas slowly looked up, “You can remove your hood. It’s alright, I don’t bite,” the King jested with a slight smile. Legolas reached up and pushed the hood from his head, and Théoden observed him more closely, “Folvar has told me your story, Legolas, and I am very sorry to hear all that you have had to contend with. Sometimes these hardships can shape us, make us better people.” He paused and waited to see if Legolas had anything to say, but the youth seemed paralyzed and mute, afraid to speak out of turn, “If I take you into my house, you will have to work hard. Just because you are living under my roof doesn’t mean you will have an easy time of it. Everyone contributes in Edoras and yes, even my son the prince has work duties to attend to. Participation is key in Rohan.”

“I understand, Sir,” Legolas finally managed to squeak out. 

The moment seemed tense as Théoden regarded Legolas, and the elf looked the king in the eye. Finally, the Rohirrim ruler broke a smile across his lips, and offered Legolas a hand. The youth took it and they shook. “Welcome to Rohan, and welcome to your new home,” Théoden said.

* * *

Théoden requested that Folvar, Hafdan and Kular stay in Rohan for a while, or at least until they must join with the rest of their men in the seizing of Dol Guldur. The Woodsmen agreed and guest rooms were set up for them. The King also wanted to discuss the matter of the attack, and learn more about the burning of Mirkwood. He had, of course, heard of the destruction, but the Woodsmen knew more than what he had heard from passing travelers.

With the talk turning to war strategies and other dark discussions of death, the men agreed that it was time to let Legolas meet the King’s son and his nephew. Théoden called for a servant, the girl who waited on them earlier, to lead Legolas to the stables where the boys worked. The maiden came at the King’s calling, curtsied, and then took Legolas by the hand, leading him from the Golden Hall. Once they were through the front doors and onto the breezeway, she stopped and looked him over carefully.

She was older than Legolas, but not yet an adult. She was slight of frame with round green eyes and long honey blond hair. She was also very outgoing and talkative, Legolas noticed, as she hardly waited until they were out of the hall before she started her inquest.

“You are an elf, aren’t you? I have never met one of your kind before. The people of Rohan have heard many stories of the Eldar, but rarely have we been visited by any. Some of the older folk say you possess magic, but I never believed any of that.” She absentmindedly reached out as if to touch his pointed ear.

Legolas backed away from her reach and returned the hood to his head. He wasn’t sure about this maiden, and she was making him a bit uncomfortable with her quick speech. She must have sensed it, because she pulled her hand back immediately, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.” She smiled, as if to change the subject quickly, “My name is Brynhild.” 

Legolas gave a fraudulent smile, “It’s alright. You caught me by surprise. I’m Legolas.”

She blushed slightly, but ignoring the difficult moment, pulled up her long skirt and approached the stairs, “Come on, I’ll take you to the stables.” She descended with Legolas following behind.

As they walked along the path, Brynhild pointed out a few other places along the way, the armory, the training grounds and the mead hall. She made casual conversation, and held back from asking him questions. It was difficult. She was very curious about Legolas. As they got closer to the stables, she decided she couldn’t hold her tongue any longer.

“I overheard King Théoden and your … your—”

“He is my foster father,” Legolas finished for her.

She smiled shyly, “I apologize. I was not sure how you referred to him. I know he is not your real father. If he was, he would be an elf, but clearly he is human.” She was rambling again.

“Folvar is like a father to me. He has helped me and taught me much.” Legolas looked to the ground as they walked along a stone pathway, “I wish I could stay with him,” he said softly.

“Why can’t you?” she asked innocently in a hushed voice, as if she was almost afraid to inquire, but the words slipped out.

Why indeed, Legolas thought to himself. The answer would take too long to explain and Brynhild may have more questions that he wasn’t ready to answer, “I have to … that’s all.” To his satisfaction, she asked no more about it.

It didn’t take them long, and they were finally at the Rohirric stables. “This is where the army’s horses are kept, and the foals are birthed. To the east, on the opposite side of Meduseld, are the Royal stables where King Théoden’s horse, and those belonging to his family and members of the court are housed. We take great pride in our horses. They are like our family, and as you can see, they live just as comfortably as we do.”

Legolas looked up at the large stable building. It looked very much like Meduseld with a thatched roof and well-made wooden walls. Brynhild pushed the doors open and they walked into a lavish stable, very clean and smelling of fresh hay. Massive pillars lined both sides of the wide stable, all decorated with the same knotted designs like the ones in the hall. Between each set of pillars were stalls where the horses stayed when they were not being ridden. Huge beams elegantly carved with the Rohirrim design lined the ceiling, each with an etching of a horse, its head gazing down at the stable floor. The smell of leather and strong oils filled the air and grooms rushed here and there carrying buckets or shovels.

Brynhild stood with Legolas by her side for a moment as she looked around. Finally, she saw who she was looking for. “There is Théodred. Come, I will introduce you as the King asked.”

Théodred was tall and lean with bronze hair not yet bleached by the sun, just touching the top of his shoulders and with a natural waviness to it. He was older than Legolas by four years, a fifteen year old boy on the verge of becoming a young man. Legolas could see his father’s features in his round face, a strong jaw, the same blue eyes and a tall forehead. Théodred was brushing down one of the horses, a very large brown beast with enormous white feet, a workhorse no doubt. The animal bobbed its head up and down, enjoying the attention the young man was giving him. Théodred spoke to the horse, smiling as he ran the brush over its muscled neck, its main fixed with many braids.

Brynhild watched Théodred for a moment before she spoke, blushing slightly as she observed the King’s handsome son. He looked up from his work and smiled wide, “Brynhild, what brings you here? Wait, let me guess, my father has come up with another chore to add to my list,” he rolled his eyes.

“The King has asked me to bring you a guest to entertain,” Brynhild said shyly .

Théodred stopped brushing the horse and turned to look at her. Then he saw someone standing behind her wearing a cloak. The prince narrowed his eyes then he nodded his head and gestured towards the stranger, “Who is that?”

“This is your guest.” She stepped to the side and nudged Legolas forward. An innocent smile formed on her lips. “You’ve done a fine job with that horse, Théodred. I’ve not seen him look more agreeable.”

Théodred stopped what he was doing, and his eyes fell upon Brynhild, mischief dancing within their blue depths, “I always make sure that those in my custody are well cared for and left thoroughly content.”

Brynhild gave a sigh and blushed a few shades deeper. She clasped her hands together at her mid-section and fidgeted, seeming to forget her errand.

Legolas could see that this shameless flirting could go on for some time, and cleared his throat, breaking the spell.

Brynhild shuffled her feet and resumed her duty, “Oh yes, Théodred, this is Legolas. Perhaps when you are done here, you can take him around the city. The King is speaking with his caretakers and asked me to bring him to meet you.” She touched Legolas’ shoulder, “I must be on my way now, but it was very nice meeting you.” She gave Théodred one last glance and turned to leave the stable.

Legolas watched her leave and slowly turned back to face Théodred, who was giving him a peculiar look. “Legolas is it?” the prince asked, but all he received in answer was a nod. He stepped away from the large workhorse and approached his new guest, “Where do you hail from, Legolas?”

The elf hesitated before answering. Where should he say he was from, the Woodsmen’s village, the Beornings, or his original home? He decided on a combination, “I am from Mirkwood, but I lived with the Woodsmen in northern Rhovanion for the past several years, after orcs raided and destroyed my home.”

Théodred knitted his brows, and regarded Legolas curiously. He would like to know more of the story, but it seemed Legolas was being very careful with his information. “Mirkwood, aye? Then you are an elf?” he asked.

Legolas reached up and lowered his hood, exposing his long flaxen hair, bright blue eyes and pointed ears. His face was set in stone, showing no emotions as he regarded the King’s son. Just then, another boy ran up to Théodred. This one had honey blond hair, not quite to his shoulders. He looked younger than the prince, a gangly looking boy. He took no notice of the stranger at first.

“Hey Théo, I just heard that some of the girls are—”

Théodred cut him off mid-sentence, “Not now Eomer. Seems we have a guest amongst us.” He gestured to Legolas.

Eomer turned and his eyes widened immediately, “He’s an elf. What is an elf doing in Rohan? Does your father know?” Eomer spoke as though Legolas was not in the same room.

“We haven’t gotten that far yet. So tell us, Legolas, why are you here anyways?” Théodred continued the questioning, and Eomer took his place by his cousin’s side. The interrogation had begun.

“I’m still wondering the same thing,” he responded quickly. Legolas had done this before with the Ladnir and the other boys from the village. He was used to the questions. He was used to having to prove himself to them. Humans were all the same it seemed. They were not too keen on letting just anyone into their tight-knit groups. Of course, Ladnir had not been the son of a king either. Still, Legolas would not show any hesitation. “It seems that my foster family cannot keep me with them anymore, so they have brought me here,” Legolas answered.

Eomer straightened his back and crossed his arms as he glared at the elf. “Foster family? So what’d ya do, get in trouble or something?”

Before he could answer, Théodred spoke again. “He’s a wood elf … from Mirkwood.”

Eomer took a step backwards. “A wood elf? And your father has agreed to let him live here?” he said with shock. 

Legolas glared at Eomer, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Eomer shrugged his shoulders, “Well, you know, wood elves are said to be unpredictable and dangerous. We dare not step into their treacherous woods for fear of never returning,” Eomer answered.

“I am not dangerous, unless you cross me.” Legolas was taken aback by Eomer’s depiction of wood elves. He had never heard anyone say they were dangerous and wondered what else the Rohirrim thought they knew about Mirkwood elves.

“Maybe a whole army of wood elves are hazardous, but I doubt just one can do any real harm,” Théodred said as he leaned towards Eomer.

“I don’t know, cousin. He’s got a strange look in his eyes,” Eomer said, “Why would he be with the Woodsmen and not his own kind anyways? Maybe he’s got the magic.” Eomer was once again speaking as though Legolas were invisible.

“If he had the magic,” Théodred justified, “then don’t you think he would have done something before now? He said his home was destroyed, and that’s why he’s with the Woodsmen.”

“You know, I heard something about Mirkwood being attacked. Do you think he lost his family then? Maybe that’s why he’s with them.”

As the boys rudely discussed Legolas in front of him, a small group of stable mates gathered around, observing the elf. He looked behind him, glancing over each shoulder, and then brought his attention back to Théodred and Eomer. “Listen, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here, but it seems I have no choice. If you want to know … yes, my home and my family were taken from me. Yes, the Woodsmen took me in and gave me a home, but they feel I am in danger if I stay with them, so they’ve brought me to Rohan. And no, I have no magic that you speak of, though if I did, I certainly would have used it on both of you. Listen, I don’t want to make trouble, and I don’t want any from you.” Legolas turned from Théodred and Eomer, storming out of the stables. He had heard enough and didn’t care for their treatment of outsiders.

Théodred punched Eomer in the arm. “What did you go and chase him off for?”

“I was just stating the obvious,” Eomer argued, “You’re the one interrogating him like a criminal,” Eomer rubbed his arm.

The group of stable hands broke apart as they all went back to their duties. Théodred picked up his brush and started working on the horse’s side while Eomer stood by, “I say we test him,” Théodred said, “see what he’s willing to do around here. You know, it could be a unique opportunity, having an elf on our side. They’re said to be stealthy. We could use someone like that. Then maybe we wouldn’t get caught so often. I say we recruit him. There’s something about him that I think he’d make a good addition to our group.”

“He seemed kind of perturbed. He may not want anything more to do with us,” Eomer pointed out.

“Then we’ll just start over new. It’s worth a try. Who else is he going to waste time with?

* * *

Legolas went back to the King’s hall, but the men were still in deep discussions, so he walked around a bit. He wondered where he would be staying and wished he had a place where he could go now. He hadn’t expected the king’s son to behave as he did, and who was this Eomer person to judge him? “Strange look indeed. Let him insult me again, and he’ll find out just how dangerous I can be,” he muttered to himself as he turned a corner and found a hallway at the back of the great hall. He was deep in thought and wasn’t watching where he was going when a girl came bounding out of a room. She ran right into the elf, nearly knocking him down. She gasped and dropped a book she was carrying, papers scattering across the floor. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you,” she apologized as she bent down to pick up her papers.

“It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. Here, let me help you.” Legolas bent down next to her and started picking up papers, noticing the drawings on some of them. One was a picture of a woman with a sword raised above her head. Blood dripped from the weapon and she was smiling. Beneath her was a decapitated orc laying in a pool of blood. He studied it a moment and realized the girl in the drawing was the same as the girl next to him, “Did you draw this?”

She looked at the parchment he held in his hand and gasped, “You weren’t supposed to see that.” She snatched the picture from his hand, “These are private pictures and no one is allowed to—” She stopped as her eyes fell upon him. He was very cute, she thought to herself, with his blue-eyed stare, pouting lips, square jaw and— “Oh,” she said surprised, “You must be the elf all the kitchen help has been talking about.”

Legolas was relieved that she didn’t run away screaming or try to pull on his pointed ears, “My name is Legolas.” He stood up and offered her his hand, helping her to her feet.

She smiled sweetly, “I’m Éowyn, the King’s niece. I live here along with my brother, Eomer.”

Legolas’ brow creased, “We have met, and the King’s son too.”

“Oh my, that does not sound very encouraging. Were they rude to you, because if so I can speak to my uncle and—”

“It’s nothing I cannot handle,” he interrupted, “So why aren’t you shocked as they were … that I am an elf? It seems to be the normal reaction around here.”

“Most of us have never seen an elf. I guess everyone reacts differently. I might have also, but I was in the kitchen when Brynhild, the serving maid, told us about you, and she . . . well, let’s just say she did not make you sound dangerous at all,” Eowyn blushed as she spoke.

Legolas and Eowyn talked more while they slowly strolled down the hallway. He learned that Eomer was thirteen, only a couple years older than he was, and Eowyn was eleven, the same age as Legolas. Brother and sister had both come to Edoras a year ago when their home in the Westfold was attacked by Wildmen and their parents were killed. Their mother was King Théoden’s sister, and he felt it was his responsibility to bring them into his home and raise them.

“Do not worry about Théodred and Eomer. Since we came to live here, those two have bonded like brothers. They are inseparable to say the least, and lately they have found new ways to get into trouble together. If I were you, I’d keep a watchful eye on them and not let them talk you into any of their foolishness,” Eowyn warned.

Legolas smiled warmly, “Thanks for the advice.”

They turned the corner in the hall and saw a couple servants dashing in and out of one of the small rooms. These were usually saved for important guests. Legolas noticed that one of them carried a stack of towels.

“This must be where you’re going to live now, Legolas,” Eowyn informed him, “They are just fixing it up.”

“Where do you stay?” he asked.

“My room is down the hall that we just came from. So is Eomer’s . Théodred’s room is on the other side of the great hall, next to my uncle’s quarters.” As she was speaking, her cousin and brother came around the corner and approached them. Eowyn put her book to her chest and crossed her arms over it, glaring at the two boys.

“What have you got there?” Eomer asked, pointing at her book, “Drawing pictures of you slaying dragons again?” he teased.

“No,” she spat, “and it’s none of your business anyways.” Eomer reached out to touch the book, but she slapped his hand.

“We were just looking for Legolas,” Théodred said, ignoring the bantering between brother and sister, “It seems we got off to a bad start and just wanted to apologize.”

“No harm done,” Legolas said.

“Well, I’m going,” Eowyn announced. As she passed Eomer, she stopped and pointed her finger at him. “Be nice to him. You remember what it was like when we first came to Uncle’s house. Don’t make it difficult on Legolas either.”

With Eowyn gone, the boys could talk more openly with the elf, “So, Legolas, we were wondering if you wanted to come have a little fun with us tonight,” Théodred started, “Think of this as a peace offering. Eomer and I will show you around the city.”

Legolas regarded them suspiciously. They seemed sincere, but he would keep his guard up, “Yea, alright.”

“Good,” Théodred went on, “Meet us by the stables when the moon is at its highest, and we’ll take you to see some of our favorite places.” Eomer let out a laugh and Théodred elbowed him in the ribs. Legolas had a feeling they were up to something, but he would play along.

“I’ll see you then,” the elf said and watched the two boys walk down the hall and turn the corner. Then he went to his new room to see where he would be living now. Already he missed the trees of the Woodsmen village, and the big oak at the Beornings’ house. There was nothing for it though. This was his new home and he would just have to make the best of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ample gratitude to my beta, Mindirith. Please review. Thank you for reading.


	11. Tour of Edoras

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review  
> *Kudos to my beta, Mindirith

Legolas was waiting behind the Rohirric stable just as he was told, and soon Théodred and Eomer approached. The boys patted him on the shoulder and back, “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Théodred stated.

“I said I’d be here, didn’t I?” Legolas countered, “So where are you taking me?”

“As we said, we wanted to show you around the city. First, let’s show you the armory,” Eomer said. They walked to the opposite end of the stable, where they came upon a square building. It was not very tall and only had one door with a thick chain and a rusty padlock.

“It’s locked,” Legolas stated, unenthused with his first introduction to Edoras.

“Eomer,” Théodred said, and his cousin reached into a pocket inside his tunic and took out two small metal rods, only a few inches long. He looked at the lock and smiled.

“They changed it, but I can still get in,” Eomer commented. He inserted the rods into the key hole and started twisting them this way and that, sticking his tongue out as he worked. Théodred stood with his arms crossed and watched the surrounding area.

Legolas was not too pleased, “You’re not supposed to go in there are you?”

“Shush or you’ll draw attention. Just help me look for guards,” Théodred demanded.

The elf did not like this one bit, and was ready to tell them he was leaving when he heard a voice off in the distance. Théodred started to complain that it was taking Eomer too long, but Legolas put a finger to his lips, “Quiet, I hear someone coming.”

Théodred strained his ear, “I don’t hear anyone.”

Legolas knew Théodred could not hear. No man could hear as well as an elf. He peered into the dark and waited until he could see movement across the courtyard near a hall of some sort, “Over there,” he said when the man came into view, “He’s just come out of that building with the window lit up.”

“That’s the mead hall,” Eomer stated.

Théodred looked at Legolas, “You could hear him from all the way over there?”

“Of course,” Legolas answered, “And I can see his face clearly. He has brown hair with grey streaks running through it, an older man, bushy eyebrows, short peppered beard … and he’s not walking very straight.”

Eomer laughed, “Well, if he’s coming from the mead hall, he’s lucky he’s walking at all.”

“And he’s not one of the guards,” Théodred added, “They are refrained from visiting the tavern when they are on duty.” He looked at Eomer, “Hurry and open that lock. Legolas keep watch. I knew you’d come in useful.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Legolas started to complain, but Eomer suddenly chuckled and released the lock from the chain.

“We’re in,” he smiled and pushed the door open.

Immediately inside the door was a set of steps. The building seemed to be buried partly beneath the ground. The three boys rushed inside, down the steps and into the armory. Théodred took out a piece of flint and tossed it to Eomer, who struck his small knife against it and lit a nearby torch. When they had light, Théodred closed the door.

Legolas observed the room. It seemed much bigger from the inside. There were shelves on the wall to his right that held silver helms like the ones he saw on the guards when he first arrived. Some of the shelves had leather boots lined up in pairs or small knives placed in neat rows. Along the opposite wall were hooks and wooden pegs with long chainmail shirts and thick wool cloaks. Further down, round shields hung on the wall in rows from floor to ceiling. Red and black leather chest plates, each accompanied by a pair of thick-layered leather shoulder pads filled the remaining area. The center of the room was lined with wooden racks that held swords, axes and spears. At the very back of the room was a table with a well-worn map spread across it. The edges were curled, and the map was held open with reddish brown rocks. At one end of the map was an inkpot with a feather quill in its holder.

“This is where most of the weapons are stored,” Théodred informed the elf, “The soldiers keep their armor with them. These are the extra ones.”

Legolas went around the room, following the other two boys, and examined the different types of weapons, “Do you not use bows in Rohan?” he asked when he noticed the absence of his favorite weapon.

“Swords and spears are our weapon of choice. They are the best kind to wield when riding on horseback,” Eomer answered, “Personally, I think I would prefer a spear. It can reach farther than a sword and keep the enemy away from my horse.”

“I like double swords myself,” Théodred said, “I have begun training with them.”

Legolas picked up an ax and inspected it, finding it quite sharp and ready for use, “This is the weapon of choice for the Woodsmen, an ax or a bow. They construct their own weapons using the wealth of the forest. I have found that I prefer a bow, the weapon of choice of the elves.”

“And a smart choice for someone with the eye of an eagle,” Théodred added, “There are a few men who use bows in Rohan. Maybe you can train with them.”

“My preference is with a bow, but I would like to learn the skills of all your weapons. You have to be able to use whatever is available during a battle. A bow is only useful with arrows and when they are spent, I have to be able to switch to another form of defense. Long knives would be my second choice. They are light and easy to use in close combat.”

“I’m sure the blacksmith can make something worthy of an elf warrior,” Théodred said. Then he looked back at Eomer, “We are all going to be warriors someday.”

They spent as much time as they thought reasonable in the armory, looking at weapons and uniforms, dreaming of being soldiers in the army. Legolas felt better about Théodred and Eomer. They were not the brats that he first made them out to be. They had goals and meant to see them through, to advance quite far in the ranks of soldiers. Perhaps Théodred had the highest expectancy of anyone, since he was the King’s son and would one day take over his father’s throne. Eomer seemed to like to harass the prince about that, as he was glad the pressure was not upon his own shoulders.

The three youths left the armory, chained and locked the door, and then slipped out unnoticed. Théodred led them towards the town’s paved road, where huts lined both sides of the street.

“Where are we going now?” Legolas inquired.

“Now we’re going to test your tolerance,” answered Théodred, twisting his lip in a mischievous smile.

“Me? Why do you want to test me?”

Eomer went up ahead of the other two and turned around so that he was walking backwards. “We like you, Legolas, and we think you’d fit in well with us, but we don’t know you so well yet. Now, Théodred and I, we like to have some fun, but we don’t like to get caught. We’re not hurting anybody. We just don’t want to sit around and do chores all the time, and believe me, there’s a lot to do around here. So we make our own fun. If you’re up for it and you’re not some tattletale like my sister, then we’d like to have you come along with us. The armory, that was just a warm up. There’s still a lot of Edoras you haven’t seen yet, stuff you won’t find on your own. What do you say, are you up for it or not?”

Legolas looked at Eomer then to Théodred. It was good to have the camaraderie of males, as opposed to females. That was fine too, but boys liked to have daring adventures that only boys could have. He nodded as he regarded the two of them, “Alright then, count me in.”

Théodred threw his arm around Legolas’ shoulder roughly, “Good, I knew you’d agree. I could tell right away that you would fit in with Eomer and me. So tell me, Legolas, have you ever tasted liquor?”

“My uncle allowed me a sip of wine once, with the Woodsmen,” the elf answered honestly.

Eomer and Théodred looked at each other and shook their heads, “He has a lot to learn, doesn’t he?” Eomer jested.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got us to teach you about life in Rohan. Come on, first thing is to introduce you to Rohirrim ale. It’s bitter and warm, and as my father says, it will put hair on your chest,” Théodred laughed.

Legolas seemed concerned for a moment and touched his hand to his chest, “I’m not sure I’d like that.”

Both boys burst out into a fit of laughter at Legolas’ naiveté. When they caught their breath, they each put a hand on the elf’s shoulder, patting him, “We better wizen you up quickly, Legolas,” Théodred chuckled as they made their way to the mead hall.

They went around to the back of the building and peeked in through an open window. Just inside the door were three huge tapped kegs. It seemed easy enough to slip in through the door, fill a mug and sneak back out, but the back room was busy with servers and cooks. Across the room was a pit lined with bricks, a fire blazing inside, and a whole pig turning on a spit. Two men fussed over the roasting meat, one turning the handle and rotating the spit, while the other added wood to the fire and adjusted the logs with a poker. The other servants were running in and out, filling pewter mugs at the kegs until the white foam spilled over the edge of each glass.

“They are busy tonight,” Eomer commented, “We won’t be sneaking in this way.”

Théodred smiled wickedly, “You know what that means. The first batch of honey wine has come out.”

“It is early this year,” Eomer said, as the boys discussed it.

“What is honey wine?” Legolas asked.

“It is also known as mead. It is produced by fermenting honey and water along with other ingredients that I am not sure of. What I do know is that they add hops and some grain and it becomes a sweet but potent ale,” Théodred explained, “None of that warg piss for us tonight.”

Legolas laughed at the term, “That’s what Hafdan called it.”

“It has its reputation,” Eomer added.

Théodred slapped the elf on the back, “Legolas, my friend, you are in for a treat, but it will be a challenge to get.”

“Why is that?” the elf inquired.

“It is kept in smaller barrels behind the bar in the mead hall where it is rationed out carefully so that everyone gets a taste,” Théodred answered, “And it is for the men only. I don’t think they’d mind if I walked off with a few mugs of the regular stuff, but not the honey wine. The trick is to find someone who won’t notice their mug disappearing, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, you mean someone who is drunk,” said Legolas, with a crooked smile. He was starting to figure out their game.

“You catch on quickly,” prodded Théodred, “Well, we won’t be going in the back door. If I’m going to get us any of the good stuff, I’ll have to walk right in the front door and be quick about it. Besides, it’s not the first time I’ve done this. Come on, let’s move around to the main entrance.”

The three boys abandoned the window and walked along the side of the building, stopping at the front corner. Théodred told them to wait while he went inside and assessed the crowd. By this time of evening, there would surely be plenty of men to choose from, already cockeyed and in one’s cups

Legolas was relieved, “I thought you were going to have me do it,” he told Théodred.

“Stealing mead takes some skill, and I don’t think you’re ready for that yet. You’ve only just arrived. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time to teach you,” Théodred replied with a scandalous wink, then he disappeared into the mead hall. 

“So what’s your story? Why have the Woodsmen brought you here?” Eomer asked. While his cousin was gone, he decided to take the time to get to know Legolas a little better.

“After Mirkwood was attacked, it was only me and Elhadron. He was the chief counselor and like family to me. We escaped and came to the Woodsmen’s village. They took us in and considered us one of their own. Then one day, the village was besieged by orcs. They killed Elhadron and would have killed me too, but they retreated. They saw me though. They knew the Woodsmen were harboring elves, and for fear of the enemy’s return, we left the Rhovanion, taking up residence with the Beornings. Folvar, my foster father, said he could not take me back to the village. I guess I don’t blame him. He has his people to protect, and it was a risk to have Elhadron and me living there, but it was home … you know?” Legolas stopped and stared at the ground. He was finally realizing just how much of a risk Folvar had taken by sheltering elves. Men had died that day the orcs attacked … because of him. All the more reason to train and become like his father, to avenge those who laid down their lives.

He cleared his thoughts of revenge and continued, “And so, they brought me here in hopes that your King would give me a home and continue my training.” Legolas finished and leaned back against the outer wall of the mead hall.

“So what happened to your parents?” Eomer asked.

“My mother died not long after I was born. Spiders attacked her and some of the other elves while they were out tending the gardens. My father raised me as best he could. He was a warrior, a great warrior, and he died protecting me so that Elhadron and I could escape. I … I saw when he fell.” Legolas stopped and looked to the ground, pushing the dirt around with his boot, “There were too many of them, and the orcs overpowered him. It is something I will never forget.”

Eomer leaned against the wall next to Legolas, bending his knee and anchoring his foot against the building, “I didn’t see it, but I heard my mother die. So did Eowyn. You see, we lived in the Westfold, a village out on the plains of Rohan. My father was one of the captains. A group of Dunlendings assailed upon our borders and killed the guards, my father being one of them. Then they came to our village. My mother made my sister and me hide beneath the floorboards. My father hollowed out a place for just that sort of situation, but it was only large enough for Éowyn and I. My mother told us not to come out no matter what we heard.” Eomer paused and shook his head, “It was awful, Legolas. Her screams still haunt me. Eowyn would not speak for a long time after that. She was in shock. Well, it was not long after that we heard the thunder of horses and knew that the Rohirrim had come, but it was too late for many of our villagers. My uncle found our mother and covered her body with a blanket so that Eowyn and I would not have to see what brutality befell her. He took us back to Edoras and now he raises us. He does his best, but it’s not the same. He’s not my father.”

It was strange, but Legolas felt a connection with Eomer. They had both lost their parents suddenly and without warning, both orphaned and now living somewhere new. For so long, Legolas had been the only one to know what this felt like, but Eomer knew. “Well, you are lucky to still have kin. I am the last of my kind, the only wood elf to escape the destruction of Mirkwood. I vow to become great like my father and seek out those that took everything away from me. One day I will crush them and see evil destroyed.”

“That makes two of us,” Eomer said proudly, “Théodred has his destiny to become King, and I shall be Marshall of the Mark. I will return to the Westfold someday, and see that it thrives once again.”

Legolas smiled, “We will be unstoppable.”

Eomer stood up straight, pushing his back away from the building and looked at Legolas. “I’m sorry if I said anything hurtful when we first met. I’ve never seen an elf before, and I was sort of surprised, but you know, we seem to think a lot alike. I’m glad we met, and I’m glad you’ll be staying in Rohan.” Eomer held his arm out to Legolas. The elf did the same and they grasped forearms.

“I think Rohan will suit this elf just fine,” Legolas admitted.

Just at that moment, Théodred came rushing around the corner carrying three big pewter mugs of mead, the golden liquid sloshing over the edges as he hurried along. He handed one to each boy and smiled a big satisfied grin.

“Easy,” he gloated, “Not one of them can see straight in there. Half of them thought I was someone else.”

Legolas looked into his mug and sniffed it. He could smell the honey and the hops. It had quite a pleasant aura actually. He started to take a sip, but Théodred stopped him with a toast, “Raise your glasses, men,” he boasted, and the other two did as he said. The prince looked to each one, “Here’s to new friends.”

“Hear, hear,” Eomer and Legolas said in unison. They lowered their mugs and each took a big sip. Théodred and Eomer finished about half of theirs before they came up for air, but Legolas kept drinking until he emptied his cup. The other two stared at him wide eyed.

“That is strong stuff, Legolas. You’ll have us carrying you home before the evening is over,” Théodred commented.

Legolas drank the last drop, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and smiled, “I’ve never tasted anything so delightful. I wish I could have more.”

Théodred and Eomer exchanged glances with a mischievous wink. The prince handed his half-full mug to Legolas, “Here, you can have the rest of mine.”

“Are you sure?” Legolas asked.

Théodred shoved the cup towards him, “Drink up, my friend.”

“Here, you can have mine too,” added Eomer, handing him his cup after Legolas finished what was left of Théodred’s drink.

Legolas waved his hand in protest. “Oh, I don’t think I should. Théodred went to a lot of trouble to obtain these.”

“I insist,” Eomer said, and forced the cup into Legolas’ hand, taking the empty mugs from him in return.

“Besides, it is only the beginning of the season for honey wine. There will be other opportunities,” Théodred encouraged.

Legolas finished off the last of the mead and sighed, “It’s beginning to get warm out tonight.”

Théodred chuckled and elbowed Eomer. They knew all too well it was not the weather that Legolas was feeling, but the aftereffects of the mead. They watched the elf a moment as he hiccupped and belched, “Oh, excuse me,” Legolas laughed.

“How do you feel now?” Eomer asked.

“I feel . . . I feel like I wish . . . the night would . . . would never end,” the elf declared with a slight slur.

“Well, we have one more place to show you. Tell me Legolas,” Théodred continued, “Have you ever heard of the shield maidens?”

“Shield maidens? Do they make shields? Or perhaps they clean and repair them?” Legolas burst into a fit of giggles, stopping instantly when another hiccup interrupted him.

Théodred whispered to Eomer, “Oh, this will be fun,” and Eomer laughed quietly.

* * *

“Where are we?” Legolas said softly as the three boys stood behind a shed. Across the lawn was another building, wooden walls and thatched roof like all the rest. This one was out close to the practice grounds.

“That, up ahead, is the shield maiden’s barracks. The new recruits have just begun their training and they stay here during that time,” Théodred explained.

Eomer continued, “A shield maiden is a woman who has decided to dedicate her time to train as a warrior. Not every woman makes this choice. Only those willing to set aside thoughts of family for weapons choose this life style.”

“So, do they fight alongside your men during battle?” Legolas asked curiously.

“In desperate times when the men must march into battle, the shield maidens patrol the city. There have been times when every man was needed in war, and as you can see, Edoras can be vulnerable to attack. But never misjudge one of these women warriors. They can be quite deadly.” Eomer nudged Théodred, “Isn’t that right, cousin?” He laughed and Legolas turned to the prince.

“Why, what happened?” the elf inquired.

“It was a couple years ago. I was with some of the older boys and they thought it would be fun to dare me to enter the shield maiden’s barracks and steal something of theirs. It seemed easy enough, since no one was there, but as I was about to take one of their personal items, I suddenly felt the cold steel of a sharp blade against my throat. There’s something to be said about a woman trained for battle. They do not take too kindly to boys sneaking around their belongings.” Théodred paused as he reminisced, “I begged her to let me go, but she said she would not let me off that easy. The knife she held lowered to a most uncomfortable place. I thought for sure she would castrate me.” Théodred stopped, leaving the other two hanging on his words.

“What happened?” Legolas asked enthusiastically.

Théodred smiled, “She gave me my first kiss.”

“What?” the other two said as one voice.

Legolas glanced at Eomer, “I thought you knew about this already.”

“I knew he snuck into the barracks and was caught, but . . .” Eomer turned to Théodred with narrowed eyes, “he did not tell me about a kiss.”

Théodred continued in answer to Eomer’s curiosity, “She said she would not tell my father that I was snooping around the women’s barracks, as long as I told no one that she had kissed a prince.”

“But you just told us,” Legolas pointed out.

“Yes, but I did not tell you who she is so I have not broken any rules.”

“So what happened after that?” Eomer wondered.

Théodred gave them a wicked grin, “She was not just my first kiss.” He gave them a ridiculous wink, shocking the other two boys.

“You mean you … and she . . .” Legolas stared at him wide eyed and disbelieving.

Théodred fell back against the side of the shed and gazed up at the stars, “Oh yes, quite a few times.” He released a sigh, “I’m gonna marry her someday.”

“You did not tell me all of that,” Eomer complained.

“I’ve not told anyone. It has only just happened in the last few months,” Théodred confessed, “Not the kiss, but the—” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down, then finished his daydreaming and focused his attention on Legolas, “Alright, time to get on with the initiations. We’ve had some fun tonight, but now let’s see how far you are willing to go.” Théodred pointed to the women’s barracks, “It’s your turn, Legolas.”

“You want me to sneak into a room full of sleeping shield maidens and steal something?” the elf asked disbelievingly.

“We’ve all had to do something to prove our worth to each other. We like you, Legolas, but we need to know how far you are willing to go for us.”

“I think I’ve proven myself. I have only just arrived, and already I have snuck into the armory, and shared a forbidden drink with you,” Legolas protested.

“Yes,” Théodred went on, “In which the lock was picked by Eomer, and I was the one to steal the ale. You have stayed right by our side this whole evening, but now it’s time for you to do a deed.” He took a step towards the elf, coming face to face with him, “I don’t think you see what an opportunity you have been given, Elf. My father has agreed to take you into his home and give you the education and training that you so desperately seek. What do you think will be expected of you? There is room in his army for leaders, and you have an advantage over the others since you will be of his house. We want to know how committed you are now so that we know what to expect of you later. Eomer and I do not take our futures in the army lightly, no soldier does. We need to know that you will be there, supporting us, supporting each other when the time comes. What can you add to this brotherhood, Legolas? Already we know that you can see and hear better than any human, and that will no doubt be a great commodity, but that alone is not enough. Show us how far you are willing to go for those who may look to you for protection someday.” Théodred’s steely eyes bore into Legolas’ ice blue ones.

Neither one spoke for a long moment. Legolas was the first to respond, “Alright then, if you feel you need proof I will give it to you, but it better be enough. My word is good, and it always will be. Now, what am I to retrieve?”

Théodred smiled fiendishly, “A pair of their undergarments.”

Legolas’ shoulders slumped, “And just how do you expect me to do that?”

“Relax, I didn’t say to slip them off one of the women. At the foot of each cot is a chest with their things. All you have to do is sneak in, look in one of their chests, get the item and sneak back out. Let’s find out if it’s true what they say about the silent footsteps of the elves. This should be easy for you.”

Legolas furrowed his brow, “It might have been easier if you hadn’t given me that mead.” Although the effects of the honey wine has subsided a bit, he was still a bit tipsy.

“Consider it part of the challenge,” Théodred teased, “Hurry now. The night is getting late and we will need to get back to the house before we are missed.”

Legolas walked quietly across the lawn and came to the door of the women’s barracks. He put his hand on the doorknob and looked around before entering. When it seemed all was clear, he turned the handle and slowly pushed the door open. It was dark inside, but for the faint glow from a lantern here or there. Cots lined each side of the long barracks building. Next to each cot was a small nightstand. On the wall, above each bed, hung a rack that housed each shield maiden’s weapon, mostly swords, but a few bows also. This peeked Legolas’ curiosity. Future competition perhaps, he thought to himself. No time to consider that now, he had panties to steal.

The young women were all safely tucked into their comfortable, hay stuffed beds, sleeping quietly, perhaps a little too quiet, he thought. Legolas moved along down the center aisle, the soft soles of his boots making no sound at all. He passed the fourth bed, and the woman occupying it turned on her side with a moan. Legolas crouched down quickly and waited until she breathed long and slow again. He took this moment to observe his surroundings, and decided that the next bed on the left would suffice. Just as Théodred had said, there was a cedar chest at the foot of each bed. He crawled on hands and knees the short distance to the chest and slowly lifted it. Every few inches, the hinges popped and he stopped movement, listening for signs of sudden awareness from any of the sleeping women. Nothing. He kept going until the lid was raised and he could rummage through it. Shirts, leggings, dresses … not what he was looking for. The tips of his fingers felt cold steel and he paused. Hmm, rounded metal … two of them with leather straps—

He palmed the object with his hand. Something about the feel of it seemed exotic, and he realized what it was, protective undergarments, a corset of some sort. Legolas stretched his neck around the side of the chest, looking at the sleeping woman. Yes, this would definitely fit her form. Her reddish blond hair spilled over her pillow, such delicate features. It was difficult for him to imagine her as a ruthless killer, as Eomer and Théodred had described. Still, he didn’t want to find out the hard way. Legolas thought about taking the metal garment for his proof, but it would possibly be more trouble to steal. Instead, he searched until he felt something small and soft. Ah, he had it, a pair of the fair maiden’s undergarments or at least he had hoped it was. The elf felt as though he has spent more than enough time looking for the item. He took the silky thing and tucked it into his suede tunic, closed the lid of the chest and made his way back towards the entrance. He twisted the handle, slowly opening the door, when from somewhere down the long room, he heard the rustling of sheets and a feminine moan.

“Aye, what’s that?” she said to no one in particular, as she sniffed the air.

The girl next to her must have awakened, “What is it?” she said with a groggy voice, as she came out of her slumber.

“I smell mead.”

The second girl sniffed and sat up in her bed. “I smell it too. You don’t think—” She paused as she heard the slightest click of the door closing.

As soon as Legolas was clear of the barracks, he took off at a run. He could just barely see two heads peering around the corner of the shed, Théodred and Eomer.

“Who’s in here?” came a muffled cry from within the barracks.

Legolas didn’t look back, but motioned desperately with his arms, and mouthed the word ‘run’ to the other boys. When he was close enough, he yelled in a loud whisper, “Run, you two. Run now.”

Not waiting for the elf to get to them, Théodred and Eomer left their hiding place behind the shed and took off at a sprint across the lawn and toward Meduseld. Legolas caught up to them in record time and ran out ahead of them, “Hurry, the both of you.”

The other boys were amazed at Legolas’ speed, but now was not the time to comment. They ran until they were at the base of the platform that held the Golden Hall, then flew up the steps taking them two at a time. Legolas started for the front doors, but Eomer grabbed his arm.

“Not that way, the guards are just inside. We’ll have to use the side entrance, this way.”

The three boys followed one after the other around the side of the hall, ducking beneath windows as they passed. Finally, they made it to an entrance, slipped inside and rushed along to the hall that housed their rooms. They stopped just outside Eomer’s room, the Rohirric boys breathing heavy while Legolas was only slightly out of breath. As soon as they could speak, they all started laughing. Théodred shushed them before they got too loud, and slapped the elf on the shoulder.

“What in Mordor happened back there? I’ve never seen anyone run so fast in all my life,” the prince asked.

“As I was slipping out the door, someone awoke. All I could imagine was a room full of angry shield maidens coming at me with swords in hand, ready to chop me into a thousand pieces.”

“Did you get it?” Eomer asked. He watched as Legolas reached into his tunic and pulled a white cloth from it.

Legolas held it in his hands, and realized he had indeed grabbed the right thing, some sort of silk wrap with buttons on one side. The other two boys closed in around the elf and all three stood in a tight circle, whispering and quietly chuckling.

“I wonder what she looks like wearing them,” Eomer pondered.

“You should be wondering what she looks like out of them,” Théodred jested, and Legolas felt his face heat and blush red. Such thoughts were new to the elf, but these boys seemed to have them all the time. There was definitely a lot to learn about Rohirric life.

The three boys talked quietly, flipping the garment this way and that as they observed it. They were too busy making jokes and congratulating Legolas to notice when someone approached them.

“There you are,” Eowyn exclaimed, “Do you have any idea how late it is? I was beginning to wonder if something happened to you.”

“What are you doing up anyways?” Eomer retorted, “And it’s none of your business where we were. Go back to bed, sister.”

Eowyn ignored her brother and closed the distance. She caught the flash of something white in Legolas’ hands, “What is that you have there?”

The two boys began snickering, and Legolas turned absentmindedly, the lady garment still in his hands. He had no answer and was beyond embarrassed as Eowyn snatched the material from his hands. She held it up in the lamp light and gasped. “Eomer, where did you get these?”

“I didn’t get them, Legolas did,” he laughed, and Théodred joined him.

Éowyn crossed her arms and looked at all three boys, eyebrow cocked, and the toes of her left foot tapping an irritated rhythm on the wood floor, “You expect me to believe that? He has only just arrived, and already you would corrupt his mind and have him sneaking into the women’s barracks?

Eomer and Théodred’s laughter came to an abrupt stop, “How do you know about—”

“All shield maidens know about the pranks the boys play,” she interrupted.

Eomer stood tall and pushed his chest out, “You are not a shield maiden.”

“Not yet, but I will be, and I already have plans for setting a trap inside my locker.” She stood still, glancing at each one, shaking her head slowly, “Honestly, why are boys so immature?”

Théodred stepped forward and looked down at her. He was a few years older and much taller than she was. He intimidated most other boys, if not because of his height then because of his royal standing, “Why must you have your nose into everything we do?” he growled.

Eowyn pushed her finger into Théodred’s chest, “I also know that you had your moment of theft a while back,” she smiled satisfied.

Théodred took a deep breath and was about to respond, when Eomer spoke up, “Well, you know too much then. Besides, we speak the truth. It was Legolas who stole them. If he’s going to live under this roof and be a part of our brotherhood, he’s got to prove himself.” 

Eowyn turned her deadly stare towards her brother, “He would not dare do something so ridiculous.”

“Yes I would,” Legolas admitted. He was getting tired of everyone thinking they knew him better than he knew himself.

Eowyn gasped, her mouth left hanging open. “Truly, you would let these two persuade you so easily?” She shook her head and glared at her brother, unconvinced that Legolas had made the decision on his own, “I should go to Uncle, and tell him how you have managed to ruin a perfectly decent elf within just a few hours of his arrival. You have done some ridiculous things, but this—”

Eomer balled his hands into fists, upset with his sister’s chastising, “You wouldn’t dare.”

The tension between brother and sister was dangerously thick. Without another word, Eowyn turned as if to make her way to her uncle’s quarters, but stopped to face the boys again. She threw the undergarment at Eomer, who flinched and ducked. The garment landed on the burgundy rug, crumpled. Eowyn glared at her brother, “Make this right, return these to their proper owner and I won’t mention a word to Uncle.”

“That is not fair. This is none of your business,” Eomer protested, “And I’m not the one who took them.”

“No, but you and Théo are the ones responsible for—”

“This time you’ve gone too far, cousin,” Théodred interrupted, clearly upset with Eowyn, “The day you first arrived, you’ve been nothing but an eavesdropping, conniving—”

Legolas stepped forward, squaring his shoulders as he stood up straight and tall, “Enough, all of you. I took them. If this will set things right between everyone, I’ll return them.”

“You don’t have to listen to her,” Eomer started, but Legolas held his hand up to stop him.

“You told me I must prove myself to you, to show you that I could be trusted. That’s why I did it. Now Eowyn is asking for the same thing. I will return the garment and apologize if it will mean gaining her trust also.” Legolas leaned down and picked up the evidence of everyone’s confidence in his faithfulness.

Eowyn gave her brother and cousin an egotistic look, “I’m satisfied with that. Uncle will not know about your little outing. Just one more thing though. I will be amongst those in the women’s barracks soon, and I better not catch any of you in there. And if I do, you will not get out alive.” Finished with her threats, she went back to her room and closed the door.

Eomer was livid, but Théodred calmed him, “Don’t worry about her. She wouldn’t have said anything anyways. How many times has she made threats and never followed through with any of them.”

“That’s because we are always bowing to her. I for one am tired of it. Legolas, I say you don’t have to do anything she says,” Eomer demanded.

“I wasn’t planning to. I just wanted to keep the peace between everyone. There’s no chance of me coming face to face with a woman who owns a sword like the one I saw hanging above her bed.”

The three friends laughed and felt themselves bonding quickly. Legolas had proved himself and the others had no more doubts about the elf. From that moment on, they were inseparable.

* * *

After that night and their narrow escape from the wrath of the shield maidens, Legolas, Théodred and Eomer decided it was best to stay close to the Golden Hall. While the two boys carried out their daily chores, Legolas spent his time with the Woodsmen, who were still in the city. Soon they would have to be on their way and Legolas would miss them sorely. Folvar, Hafdan and Kular were his family and that was a difficult thing to lose. Legolas knew this feeling all too well.

They wanted to give Legolas the best chance they could, which was why they brought him to Rohan. Now, with only a few days before they left him in the hands of King Théoden, they wanted to give him the best advice they could as Woodsmen. So, they took Legolas to the blacksmith’s shop and had him try different swords. The elf was strong and quick. He would need something light to carry and easy to wield quickly. Legolas’ weapon of choice was a bow, but in close combat, his arrows would do him no good. Right away, the elf decided that he did not like the traditional sword sheathed at his side. He said it was too confining and slowed his actions. He was used to carrying his bow and quiver on his back and wondered about carrying a sword in this fashion also.

“’Tis not practical,” the blacksmith replied.

Kular went to a rack that held swords of many shapes and lengths. He picked up certain ones and swung them around, testing them. None of them would do. Then he stumbled upon a broken sword and brought it to the farrier, “What about this?”

“It is broken. What would you want with it?” the man asked.

“It can be reshaped into a shorter blade, a long knife if you prefer. The blade itself does not need to be so wide. It just needs to be sharp and light to carry,” Kular explained.

Hafdan came to his side, observing the broken blade and seeing its potential, “Yes, yes, Brother that is a good idea, and I have a vision for a sheath that can attach to his back, using a long strap that will crisscross over his chest. His quiver could easily attach to it also.” Hafdan turned to the farrier, “Where can I find your leather craftsman?” The blacksmith gave him directions, and Hafdan patted Kular on the back, “You stay here and work with him on the design of the long knife. Actually, make that knives. Can ye do that?” he asked the blacksmith.

Kular turned to Legolas and smiled, “We’ll have you all set up with weapons before we leave.”

A few days later, and the day that the Woodsmen were leaving, Legolas’ new long knives were finished. The men gathered around him on the green lawn before Meduseld. Hafdan handed him the leather sheath and showed him how to put it on. It slipped on easily and buckled across the chest. Legolas noticed right away that the buckle was in the shape of a leaf from a beech tree. He ran his finger along its edges and smiled as he looked at the men.

“It represents Mirkwood, your home,” Folvar told him, “Never forget.”

Folvar nodded to Hafdan, who came forward and presented Legolas with a glimmering pair of long knives, straight with the tips curved upward. The twin handles were carved from white ivory from a mumakil tusk, and upon the blade were elvish runes. Legolas examined it with amazement.

“How do you know written elvish?” he asked as he took one of the long knives from Hafdan, watching it sparkled in the sunlight.

“Elhadron had a book of elvish that he gave to us. I remember seeing these runes and thought they represented you best,” Folvar answered.

Legolas touched each one and recited, “Strength, Courage, and Trust.”

“You will make a fine warrior, Legolas. You represent a fallen people. Show the enemy that they could not destroy all of them. There is at least one wood elf left,” Folvar said with determination and fire.

“One day, I will claim my home again. Evil will not rule there forever,” answered Legolas.

The men took turns hugging Legolas and giving last minute advice. In the meantime, stable hands brought their horses, packed and ready for their journey to Lothlórien, where they would join their fellow Woodsmen and set out for Dol Guldur. Before they left, Folvar had one more gift. He unhooked the great bow from his back and gave it to Legolas.

“I cannot take this. It is your weapon. What will you use to fight with?” the elf said worriedly.

“It’s alright, one of the other men will have an extra weapon. I want you to have this. Ever has it kept me safe. You will soon outgrow yours. This is as sturdy as any bow. My father made this, used it and when his time came, he passed it down to me. Now I have someone who I can pass it to. I’m very proud of you, Legolas, and I know Elhadron and your father would have felt just the same.”

Legolas nodded, but the lump rising in his throat kept him from speaking. Folvar patted him on the back. “Take care of yourself and maybe you will come back to visit us someday.”

“I will. I promise,” he whispered.

The three Woodsmen mounted their horses and started down the stone street that led to the great wooden gates of Edoras. Legolas bound up the stairs of the Golden Hall and stood on the porch, looking after them as they passed through the gate and followed the dirt path past the Barrowfield, and on until they crossed the River Snowbourn. Soon they were naught but a speck on the horizon before they disappeared altogether.

Legolas stood alone at the top of the wide stairs. He looked down at the bow in his hand and sighed. He knew it was time to mature and stand a little taller than he had when he awoke that morning. In a way, he felt as if he were on his own, a single soul in the world, the last wood elf. Then he felt a presence behind him and heard the unmistakable footsteps of his new friends. Théodred and Eomer came up to him, each taking their place at the elf’s side.

Théodred spoke first, “This is your home now, Legolas, as much as it is mine and Eomer’s. We are brothers now, in a way. We will fight together one day, and we will hew down our enemy.”

“They will fear what we will become,” Eomer added, “Can you feel it?”

Legolas raised Folvar’s bow, bringing it up and aiming it. He stretched the string back until it rested at his cheek, and then he narrowed his eyes as he focused on an invisible enemy, “Yes, Eomer, I do feel it. We will be unstoppable someday. The Woodsmen were right. This is where I belong, and from now on, you are both as a brother to me. I meant what I said the day we met. I will always be true to my word.”

“And so are we, Elf Brother,” Théodred laid his hand on Legolas’ shoulder, “Come now. I think it is time we spoke to my father about our training. The time has come to move forward.”


	12. The Foaling

It had been several years, since Legolas came to Rohan. He was now sixteen, and maturing just as quickly as human boys were at his age. During that time, he had begun rigorous training, learning how to accurately use each type of weapon the army had to offer. Still, his talents lay with his bow and long knives, and he worked harder at that than any other form of weaponry. He had finished his training and was now joining the ranks of city guard. Two years as a guard in Edoras, and then he would join the army, something he very much looked forward to.

Having finished his two year requirements, and pursuing further achievements, Eomer was joining the army this year. He had recently celebrated his eighteenth birthday, which meant he would earn a place with the Rohirric riders in the late spring, something he was very excited about since his cousin was already a soldier. Of course, no less was expected of him. He was, after all, nephew of the King and son of a Captain in the Westfold. Eomer was born a leader, and he looked forward to the day he would stand beside Théodred as a leader of the army.

Théodred was now twenty, and entering into his second year in the army as a border guard. His father had made sure the prince was given no special advantages because of his royal standing. Every soldier had to prove their worth, and work their way honestly through the ranks. Théodred started as a city guard like all the rest, and after serving his duty within the city, he was sent out with the seasoned warriors to patrol the border. He had been assigned to a troop east of the River Snowbourn. This year he would venture farther beyond, to the outer borders where danger lurked. Recent days had proven an increase in small attacks and scuffles with Dunlendings. For now though, he was on reprieve until called upon to serve with his new troop. Just returning to Edoras, the first thing he did upon his arrival was visit with his cousin and his elf friend. Today they happened to be at the practice field. They had been dueling, but now Legolas was taking some time spending a few arrows. 

Théodred spotted Eomer and waved. They two young men clasped arms, but weren’t content with just proper greeting, and grasped onto each other in a brotherly hug, which ended with the punching of shoulders.

Eomer admired and looked up to his older cousin. They were as close as brothers, and missed each other’s company when they were apart. “Théodred, a soldier’s life has surely agreed with you. How long has it been? You look as though you’ve aged ten years.”

“And you still look as naïve as a pup,” Théodred jested, returning the banter, “Are you sure they’ve promoted you to border patrol and not kitchen duty?”

“I think you should be worried, cousin, for I may just surpass you in the ranks, and then you’ll be answering to me some day,” Eomer laughed.

Théodred gave him a solid punch in the chest, knocking Eomer back and making him stumble, “Not likely, pup.” Their laughs subsided, and Théodred looked past Eomer to the field, “Where’s Legolas?”

Eomer put a hand to his hip, rolled his eyes, and pointed to the right side of the practice area, “He’s over there shooting arrows. You might have known if you looked for the crowd of girls standing at the edge of the archery field. You have been gone for some time, haven’t you?”

Théodred looked across the way and saw the elf, bow raised, arrow notched, and standing still as a statue. And there, to the side, was the group of girls that Eomer mentioned, some young and giggling behind their hand-covered mouths, some older and just budding into womanhood, smiling as they watched. All of them had stars in their eyes as they watched the elf shoot until his quiver was almost empty, and the target’s center ring was filled with arrows. Some of the girls clapped, but Legolas paid them no mind. Théodred shook his head and crossed his arms, “How does he ignore that?” he said nodding toward the girls, “and why aren’t I the one with the admirers?”

Eomer laughed and clasped his cousin’s shoulder, “Because you are not as fair and comely as he is.”

“But I’m a prince and a soldier in the army,” Théodred complained, “laying my life on the line for their safety. Should they know how many enemies I’ve slain, they might forget about the elf and his fancy bow work.”

Eomer shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, Théodred, the maidens all want the elf. He has a certain charisma that men just don’t possess. He is charming and polite, not a brute as some of the women call us.”

“A brute?” Théodred said surprised, “Who has called you a brute?”

In fact, a certain girl that Eomer fancied had called him the very thing when he tried to gain her attention one day. Unfortunately, he thought a few mugs of ale would help build his courage to speak to her. He ended up being overconfident, and his suggestions left the girl shocked and disgusted.

“Never mind,” Eomer answered, hoping Théodred would not pursue the subject.

Théodred shook his head as he watched Legolas take his final shot, hitting the target dead center between all the other arrows. There was another outburst of applause. Legolas regarded the group of ten or so girls with a shy smile. He started towards the target to retrieve his arrows, but was interrupted when Eomer called out to him. He turned and saw his two best friends standing to the edge of the practice field. He waved and hurried over to them, ignoring the girls, some who now took to calling out to him. 

“Look at him,” Théodred protested again, “He doesn’t even realize the power he has. Is he blind and deaf?”

Eomer glanced at the target, “Well, definitely not blind with aim like that.”

Legolas approached his friends, smiling wide and anxious to see them, especially Théodred. It had been a long time since he’d seen the prince, “I hadn’t known you were back from duty or I would have met you at the gate. It’s good to see you, Théodred.” They grasped arms and shared a brotherly welcome.

Théodred nodded in the direction of the maidens, who were now beginning to disburse, since Legolas was finished for the day, “That was some fine shooting, even with the distraction off to the side of the field.”

Legolas turned to see what he was referring to, “Oh, the girls?” he blushed, “Actually, I don’t mind them watching. Kular taught me early on not to let anything hinder my awareness. They make for good practice.”

“I’m sure they do,” Théodred mumbled, “but not for archery.” He cleared his throat, and threw an aggravated glance at Eomer, but his younger cousin was not paying attention. One of the girls from the group caught Eomer’s eye, and he watched after her as she left the field. The girl, however, was stealing glances at Legolas and hadn’t noticed Eomer. Théodred pushed his cousin in the arm, making him wince unexpectedly.

“What was that for?” Eomer said irritated.

Théodred ignored his cousin, and poked Legolas in the chest with his finger, “You see there, that is what I’m talking about. The girls ignore us, but they watch and follow your every move, and you do nothing. Do you not know what kind of control you could have? Any one of them would lie at your feet and . . . Well, I don’t know about elves, but around here, at sixteen you are considered a man, and most have started to join in the activities that men enjoy doing.”

Legolas’ eyebrows creased, and he cocked his head to the side as he tried to understand what Théodred was talking about. The prince shook his head, clearly annoyed with his friend, “Forget it. You’ve probably never even kissed a girl, let alone considered taking the next step.” Théodred turned to leave, but Legolas grabbed his arm to stop him. It seemed as though Théodred was challenging him, and Legolas was not one to pass up an opportunity.

“Just so you know, I have kissed a girl, and probably sooner than you might have,” he prompted. 

Théodred crossed his arms, and cocked an eyebrow, ignoring Legolas’ badgering, while he waited for an explanation.

“It was with a Woodsmen’s daughter,” Legolas continued sheepishly.

Théodred glared through narrowed eyes, not sure whether to believe the elf or not, “A quick peck on the cheek does not count.”

“It was more than the cheek,” Legolas protested.

Eomer stepped forward and eyed the elf, “Was it with parted lips?”

“Did she slip you her tongue?” Théodred added.

Legolas didn’t like their provoking tone and became angry, “I don’t have to tell you anything. It is none of your business.”

Théodred and Eomer laughed at Legolas’ expense, “There was probably no girl. I bet it was an old village woman kissing him on the cheek,” Théodred said. Eomer continued laughing.

Finally, Legolas could take no more humiliation, “Her name was Katala, and she was the first friend I had after arriving at the village. She . . .” He paused as he remembered his past, “She gave me a flower the day … the day Elhadron was buried. That was the first time she spoke to me. She was one of the few who understood my grief. We became friends after that and grew closer.” Legolas lifted his head and squared his shoulders as he glared at his friends, “And yes, we kissed … on the lips … parted lips … and tongue if you must know. And I might have gotten to know other things about her had we not been caught watching the shape shifting ceremony of the Beornings’.” There, Legolas thought, that should divert their attention away from his romantic involvements, if that’s what it could be called.

Théodred and Eomer abruptly ceased their laughing, and their mouths hung open. Suddenly, they did not care about Legolas’ first kiss. They closed the distance between them as if they called some secret meeting, “You saw the bear-men shift form?” Eomer asked first.

Legolas nodded, “One of the older boys from the village dared us to sneak out to the courtyard. We had to do it or face endless harassment from him and the others. We found a place to hide, and waited until the moon was at his highest. It was actually quite a frightening thing to witness, and as it happened, Katala began to panic. I did the only thing I could think of that would keep her from darting off and exposing us. I kissed her.”

Legolas paused and watched his friend’s faces wash over with astonishment. He felt they might not believe him, so he continued, “That night was not our first kiss either. We’d kissed once before, though it was the first time I felt her tongue in my mouth.” His words trailed off to a mumble as he finished speaking.

Théodred closed his eyes and shook his head vigorously, “Wait a moment, back to the Beornings. So you actually watched them change from men to bears?”

“I have already told you that,” Legolas complained, “I thought you wanted to know if I ever kissed a girl.”

“Yes … oh yes … sure,” Théodred stuttered, “but that was until you said you saw the ceremony. No one has ever witnessed such an event.” 

“We have only heard tales of it,” Eomer chimed in, “I’ve always been hesitant to believe it though.”

“Do you know how lucky you are?” said Théodred amazed.

“We weren’t that lucky. We were almost mauled by one of them after they turned into bear form. Grimbeorn himself saved us from that terrible fate,” Legolas answered. It was a night that he would never forget, standing on the verge of death, or at least that’s what he thought at the time.

Eomer roughly threw an arm around Legolas’ shoulder, “You’ve been trapped in a cave by a giant spider, stalked by a warg, attacked by orcs, and now we learn you have seen the changeling ceremony of the Beornings. Either you have seen more than most men in Rohan, or you are full of horseshit. Either way, I say we make our way back to town, change out of these uniforms, and meet at the mead hall later. I want to hear more of this story, but over a glass of ale.”

Théodred smiled wide, “I could not agree more.”

Legolas looked worriedly at them, “I’m not sure they will let me into the tavern yet.” During the day, the hall was a place where anyone could go for a hot meal and conversation, but later in the evening, it was reserved for rowdy men, drinking, and provocative women who didn’t mind being seen amongst the lot of them.

“You are a city guard now, Legolas, and that constitutes you as a man … er … well, an adult anyways,” Eomer told him.

Legolas ignored the reference, and was just glad they were not harassing him about his first kiss anymore, “Let’s go then.”

* * *

The three friends sat at their table in the mead hall, listening to Legolas’ detailed account of the night he saw the Beornings. Eventually, and after a few mugs of ale, the talk led back to Katala and his first kiss. Now with the warm drink filling their bellies, and feeling slightly inebriated, the conversation took a more personal turn.

“We need to find you a girl, Legolas,” Théodred started, “and not just any girl, because obviously you can have your pick.”

“Why are you always talking about this?” Legolas protested.

Eomer decided it was his turn to annoy Legolas, “Because if we don’t intervene, you will never get laid.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down, and elbowed the elf in the ribs.

“Well, if I were interested in any of those girls on the sidelines, don’t you think I would have done so by now?” Legolas pushed Eomer away from him, almost spilling his mug.

Théodred crossed is arms, laid them on the table, and leaned in close to Legolas, “So are you saying there is someone that holds your interest after all?”

Legolas glared at his friends, hoping they would drop the subject, but he knew better. Once they started harassing him, they did not give up until they got the information they sought. He would have to confess his secret. The corner of his mouth upturned as he turned his eyes down towards his mug, “If you must know, and knowing the two of you, you will hound me to no end . . . yes, there is someone like that which you speak.”

Eomer smiled wide and sat back in his chair. He looked at Théodred, who looked defeated, and held a hand out to the prince, palm up. Without a word, Théodred reached into his pocket and retrieved a silver coin, pushing it roughly into Eomer’s hand. Eomer then flipped the coin in the air, caught it and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. Legolas watched the exchange with confusion until it finally dawned on him just what was taking place.

“You used me in a wager? You have both sunk to a new low,” said Legolas disappointedly.

“I merely pointed out the fact that if you did not give those girls a second, or even a first look, then there must be someone who captured your attention,” Eomer boasted, as he was the winner of the bet.

Legolas turned to Théodred, “And what was your speculation?”

“You don’t want to know,” the prince mumbled, “Just tell me this love interest of yours is a girl.”

Legolas furrowed his dark brows, “Of course it is. Who else would it be?” He watched Théodred turn crimson. Suddenly, it dawned on the elf just what his friend was suggesting, “Oh for Bema’s sake, Théo … why would you think that?”

“Well, you know … there are stories about the elves, and their leniency with their preferences … not … always … a female.” When Legolas remained silent and glared at him, murderously, Théodred became defensive and sat up, “You made me wonder, the way you ignored all those maidens who sit there pining over you, and not once gave them any notice. What was I supposed to think?”

Legolas grabbed his mug, and on one breath, gulped down what was left of his drink. He slammed the mug down, and turned just in time to see a servant pass by carrying three mugs in each hand. He reached out and took one, surprising her, “Here, let me help lessen your load, my lady.”

She gave him a questioning glance, noticed the company he kept, shook her head, and went about her business. Finally, Legolas turned back to Théodred, “I assure you, my friend, not once have I looked at you or any man and felt my cock twitch.”

Eomer burst out laughing, pulled his winnings from his pocket, raised it in the air, and called to another passing servant. “Bring us another round. This one is on me.” When he had collected himself, he regarded Legolas once more, “So who is she? You might as well tell us or we’ll beat it out of you.”

Legolas was silent a moment, and then a small smile appeared, “Fine then, her name is Lúta. She works in the stables, feeding the horses, and taking care of the pregnant mares.”

Lúta was a Rohirric girl, only a few months older than Legolas. She had reddish blond hair, long and wavy, usually tied back with a leather strap. There was always one piece that would not stay in place, and it usually hung down in her eyes. Legolas had seen her fuss with it many times, wishing he could be the one to push it gently out of her way. She had an oval face, tanned complexion like most Rohirric people, and freckles sprinkled over the bridge of her nose and tops of her cheeks. Her eyes were green like two peridot gems, compassionate, and always dancing when she smiled. Legolas had watched her many times, but never approached her. She was very busy with her work, and he did not want to impose. 

Théodred thought a moment, but Eomer who knew of the girl, “She is the daughter of a blacksmith. Pretty thing too, but it’s her father that will be giving you trouble. He watches over her as a dwarf guards his treasure.”

“I have seen this,” Legolas admitted, “I hung around the stables one day, waiting for her to finish her chores so I could talk to her, maybe walk her home. All I had time to do was exchange a glance and a smile with her. Lúta’s father was right there waiting for her. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake in wanting to pursue her.”

Théodred gave his friend a hearty slap on the back, “The heart wants what the hearts wants, Legolas.”

“That may be true, but neither do I want to be strung up by my ballocks,” Legolas answered, cringing at the thought.

“Well then, leave it up to Théo and me. We’ll find a way to get you alone with her,” Eomer boasted.

Legolas rolled his eyes, “That’s what I was afraid of. Just forget I ever said anything.” That was very likely never to happen.

The serving maid, an older woman, short and round, set their full mugs on the table. She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes, “That’s all ya’s can have, ye wee lads, especially you,” she complained and pointed at Legolas, “I won’t be responsible for turning the lot of ye into lushes or the King will string me up by me apron.” With that said, she collected the coins and wobbled off to tend to the older patrons who she was sure could handle their drink. The boys were not worried though. They would just charm one of the younger women, and still get their fill for the evening.

As they sat at their table, listening to stories of Théodred’s latest accounts of his duty at the borders, he mentioned seeing Grima, a man of Rohan, a bit odd but a loyal servant of King Théoden. Several years ago, he had volunteered to run an errand for the King, but hadn’t returned when he was expected. Théoden feared the worst had happened. Scouts were sent out to look for him, but without result. He seemed to have vanished altogether. All of this had happened before Legolas came to Rohan, and his friends explained the situation.

“When my captain approached Grima with concern, he said it was no one’s business except for the King,” Théodred continued, “But I’ll tell you, and mark my words, there is something different about Grima now. He’s always been rather aloof and eccentric, but now there seems to be something dark about him.”

“I’d give my right eye to know where he had been when he went missing,” Eomer added.

The three friends finished out the night, and after they had their fill, they headed out for home. As they passed the stables, they noticed a lot of commotion. The lanterns were lit, and stable hands ran in and out. Legolas stopped one of them and inquired, “What is happening?”

“One of the mares gives birth. She has been in labor for quite some time now and she weakens. Her foal is in distress,” the young man informed them.

Legolas took off for the stable doors, leaving his friends behind. “Legolas, what are you doing?” Eomer yelled after him.

“I want to see if I can help,” he answered and disappeared inside.

The horse was in the third stall on the right. People gathered around inside and outside of the confined space. Legolas pushed his way through, and instantly saw Lúta giving commands to the others. The mare was being uncooperative stomping her feet and thrashing her head from side to side, as if to chase everyone away. Lúta was covering her arm with some kind of lubricant. Legolas noticed her dress only had one sleeve. She must have torn the other off. Loose threads hung down about her shoulders. Her red hair was tied back, but some tendrils had come loose, and hung irritatingly in her face, sticking to her sweat sodden brow. She looked tired, which was why Legolas made his way into the stall.

“Can I be of any help?” he asked, unaware that this was the first time he was speaking to her after watching her move about the city for so long.

Lúta looked him up and down, “Have you ever participated in a foaling before?”

“No, but—”

Lúta rolled her eyes and waved him back. She had no time for this and ignored the elf, “I need towels, and someone heat another bucket of water,” she yelled to the closest stable hand.

Legolas looked around the stall, then to the distressed mare, “There are too many people around her, and she is irritated.”

“I need these people. I cannot leave her,” Lúta insisted, “And you are just one more added to the chaos, so I suggest you leave, and let me do my job.” As she finished reprimanding Legolas, she slid her arm into the horse and began feeling around, “Damnit! The head is turned.”

At that exact moment, the mare’s legs began to wobble, and she seemed as though she would lie down. The poor animal barely had enough strength left. Legolas jumped to the front of the horse, pushing two young boys out of the way.

“Hey, what are you doing? I need them to help keep her from going down,” Lúta said sharply.

Legolas ignored her, and took hold of the horses halter. He began speaking in Sindarin, the words rolling from his lips like a well-rehearsed tune. The mare seemed to calm, and her movements stilled. Lúta listened as the elf’s voice went high and then slowly fell deeper. It was a very comforting sound, even if she did not understand what he was saying, and it was actually working. She felt the mare’s inner muscles relax, and was able to reach her arm in enough until she could feel the foal’s cheek.

“Whatever you are saying, keep it up. It’s working. I feel the head. Now it’s just a … matter of … moving … it.” As she spoke, she coaxed the foal’s head forward. Instantly the mare began pushing. Lúta removed her arm and looked around the stall. “Legolas, hand me that towel over there.”

Legolas jumped to her aid, handing her the towel. He watched as she carefully placed it over two tiny hooves protruding from the mare. Lúta pulled slowly and soon a nose appeared, “That’s it. That’s right. Come on little one,” she cooed.

Suddenly, King Théoden came around the corner of the stall. At that exact moment, the mare gave one final push, and out came the foal to rest in the clean hay. It lay motionless and everyone held their breaths as they watched. The mare was exhausted, but Legolas knew only she could stimulate the foal. He took her by the harness, and once again spoke to her in elvish. He seemed only to say it once, and the mare nodded her head a few times before turning around and nudging the foal. After a few tense moments, the tiny new life began moving his legs. There was a unison release of air as everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Lúta patted the mare on her side, “You did it. You are such a good mother.”

When the danger had passed, Théoden approached Lúta, “What happened here and why wasn’t I informed earlier?”

“I am sorry, Sire, but there was no time. The foal’s head was turned, and in the rush to aid him, I forgot to send a messenger to warn you,” She bowed her head when she was done.

Théoden then turned to Legolas, “Théodred and Eomer told me something was happening, and that you stopped to help. That was very noble of you.”

“I have never seen a foaling before, but I have been around horses long enough to know when they are stressed,” Legolas answered.

“He was very helpful, Sire,” Lúta added, “It was quite amazing actually.” She smiled shyly towards Legolas.

Théoden turned his weathered face towards the elf, “Legolas has always been very helpful.”

Their attention was diverted to the foal as it tried to sit up, “How long before he can walk?” Legolas asked.

“It usually takes four to six hours. It may be longer for this little one, since the birth was complicated,” Lúta answered.

Legolas walked over to the mare, and brushed his hand down her side, once again speaking in elvish. As he did, the tiny foal lifted its head, as if to listen to the elf’s soothing flow of words. Legolas noticed and smiled. The mare snorted and pushed him towards her baby. He laughed and motioned towards Lúta, “I think she wants me to check her foal. Will you take a look? She will be much more relaxed once I can tell her all is well.”

Lúta looked at him strangely, “You talk to horses?”

“I am an elf. I can talk to the trees if I so will it.” A mischievous smiled crossed his lips.

Lúta knelt down next to the foal while Legolas joined her. The little horse seemed very interested in the elf, “He is breathing just fine. I think if we give him time to bond with his mother, he will—”

Suddenly, the foal pulled his legs beneath his body, and began struggling to stand, “I thought you said it would take several hours,” Legolas said.

“Well, yes, that is the normal amount of time,” Lúta answered.

Théoden looked on in amazement, “Legolas, move behind him where he cannot see you.”

Legolas did what he was told and shockingly, the foal started to try standing again. When the elf went back in front of the little horse, he relaxed. Théoden laughed to himself, “It seems he has already developed a liking for you.” The King went to Legolas, and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Did you know that a first year soldier is present at the foaling of his warhorse?”

“Yes, Théodred shared his own experience with me,” Legolas answered.

“And while the soldier carries out his first orders as a guard in Edoras, he helps raise his foal, forming a strong bond. This is an important stage for any soldier,” Théoden continued, “A horse and his rider will never separate lest death take them.” Théoden motioned to the tiny newborn, “I can honestly say I have never seen a bond happen within the first moments of birth. Legolas, there is no doubt in my mind that this is to be your horse.”

“But I am not a—”

Théoden looked Legolas in his bright eyes, stopping him mid-sentence, “When the Woodsmen brought you to Edoras, I must admit I was a bit skeptical as to whether or not I could take another into my house, let alone an elf. But I have watched you grow and mature alongside my own son and Eomer. The three of you have grown so close over the years. You each possess an extraordinary skill, but together you have an ability that is not to be underestimated. I guess what I am trying to say is, I am just as proud of you, as I am of Théodred … and of Eomer for that matter. I am glad you are a part of my family, Legolas, and a part of our army. You are a soldier of Rohan now. Never doubt your standing.”

Legolas held his head high, squared his shoulders and spoke, “You and the people of Rohan have been very kind to me, and I am proud to serve your army and protect this land. Thank you for opening your doors, giving me a home, and an opportunity to improve my skills.”

The King smiled, the creases at the corners of his eyes deepening, and Legolas felt his admiration. Théoden was a busy man, and did not always have the time to spare for his family, but when the moment arose, he gave them every part of himself, as he was doing now. Théoden pulled Legolas to him, embracing him, as a father would do for his son. He released him and stood back smiling. He ruffled the hair atop of the elf’s head, and then caught the attention of a stable hand, “This foal now belongs to Legolas. See that he is well taken care of, and expect to see more of our newest soldier around the stables.”

Those who Théoden spoke to bowed respectfully, and then went about their duties, “Well Legolas, now you will have to come up with a name.”

As soon as the King spoke, the foal drew their attention once more as it began thrashing its awkward legs. The mother snorted as she watched the newborn try to stand, encouraging him. Finally, after many failing attempts, the foal was standing on all four legs, though they were spread ridiculously wide apart and wobbling. Lúta looked on amazed, “I have never seen one get up so soon.”

Legolas went to him, getting a better look now that the mother seemed to have cleaned him up a bit. He was white with grey running up his legs, and a bit of grey sprinkled about his head and neck, “He is a handsome little fellow ... and quite determined.” The little horse nodded his head up and down, trying to focus his eyes on Legolas. He took a couple steps towards the elf, and feeling sure of himself, tried to give a hop or two. His legs, however, did not do what his mind was telling them and he fell. He got right back up and tried again, this time walking the last few steps to close the distance between him and the elf. Legolas laughed aloud, “You’re a quick learner, aren’t you? I know just the name for you. Arod, that’s it. It means ‘swift’.”

“That’s a fine name,” Théoden said from across the stall.

After a few more moments, Lúta spoke up, “Well, I think it’s time we give mother and baby their peace.”

Legolas smiled and rubbed Arod’s head, “You keep practicing, and I will come visit you tomorrow.” He stood up and looked at Lúta, “As long as it is alright with you.”

“Oh, of course, he is your horse now.” She returned a smile, and a slight blush colored her cheeks, “Oh … uh … thank you for your help.”

Legolas bowed to her, and as he stood straight, his eyes met hers and held her a moment, “Tomorrow then.”

Lúta could not find her voice, caught off guard by his alluring blue eyes. She swept a piece of her red hair from her face and gave a nod. Legolas broke his stare, and flashed another smile, this time his dimples showing. He turned to the stall door, and Théoden wrapped his arm around his shoulder. The King was privileged to share this important moment with Legolas. He never again doubted his decision to take the elf under his roof. Rohan was fortunate to have him, as was its army.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: Mindirith  
> Please leave a review. It's an author's only form of payment and a nice thing to do.


	13. Seeking Advice

 

For the next few weeks, Legolas started each day at the stables. He would arrive well before the sun rose, checking on Arod, and observing his progress. And every day, Lúta was there soon after. She helped teach Legolas how to get the most out of his time with the foal and strengthen their bond. She also used this time to get to know Legolas better. They only had a small amount of time together in the morning, before he went to the training fields. Soon, he would have even less time when he started his duty as a city guard.

On this particular morning, Lúta arrived at the stables to find Legolas sitting in the fresh hay, his long legs stretched out, ankles crossed, and leaning back on his hands as he watched Arod jump around and play. The elf was laughing, a most delightful sound. She approached the stall, and watched from the doorway. Legolas was always careful not to interfere too much between mother and baby, but sometimes she thought he did not interact enough.

“Good morning, Legolas.”

He turned his head, a smile still adorning his handsome face, “Good morning, Lúta. Arod seems quite boisterous today, doesn’t he?”

“I think it is time to let him into the fields with the other foals,” Lúta studied Legolas for a moment, “You know, it is alright to approach Arod, even when he is with his mother. She seems not to mind your presence in such close proximity. Here,” she said and offered Legolas her hand. He took it and she helped him up, hay falling from his pants as he stood. Lúta led him to Arod, “You should start petting him regularly, and not just his head or back. Caress him all over. He should learn your touch.” Lúta showed him by running her hand slowly over Arod’s head, neck and leg. “Now you try.”

Legolas copied her motions. “Like this?”

“Yes, all the way down to his feet too. Touch is very important at this age. He remembers everything now. He will always know his rider.” Lúta petted Arod’s back and hind legs. Legolas moved his hand up the front leg and along the foal’s side, joining Lúta’s. Their hands brushed against each other. She slowly lifted her eyes, and found the elf watching her, a shiver running up her spine that made her heart rush. Legolas moved closer, leaning towards her, his eyes shifting from her lips and back to her eyes. She was not resisting so he continued until they touched, a gentle sweet kiss. Lúta broke away first, and could not help but smile.

“I have wanted to kiss you for a while now,” Legolas admitted.

“I think I have wanted you to,” she answered while looking down and away.

He took her chin and lifted her head, meeting her gaze, “You have? But you never showed it.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Legolas, there are a lot of girls that wish you would pay them some attention,” Lúta teased.

“So I have been told, but none of them hold my interest.” As he spoke, he reached for a tendril of her red hair, tucking it behind her ear and letting his fingers graze her cheek, lingering a moment before he pulled away. He fixed his gaze upon her so she could not look away until he kissed her again, and she closed her eyes. Just when he meant to deepen the kiss, he felt a nose nudging into the middle of his back, and the mare let out a quiet whinny. Legolas reluctantly released Lúta, and looked over his shoulder, “Not now,” he complained, but he instantly heard the reason for the interruption. Someone had entered the stable.

Lúta gasped, “It’s my father!” She pushed Legolas away from her.

“It’s alright. I’m supposed to be here, remember?”

“Yes, but you’re supposed to be training your horse, not kissing me.”

“Do you not want me to kiss you then?” he asked. The sound of footsteps were coming closer.

“I didn’t say that.”

Feeling a bit daring, Legolas grabbed Lúta by the waist, “Then promise to meet me later so that I can kiss you again.”

Lúta squirmed in his arms, “Legolas, my father—”

“Promise me,” he demanded.

Feeling panicked, she agreed, “Alright … later, but not here. My father always walks me home. I’ll have chores to do, so maybe—”

“I’ll find you then, and I won’t get caught. I’m an elf remember?” He gave her a sly smile, and released her just before Lúta’s father came around the corner and looked into the stall.

“Always here bright and early, Legolas,” Lúta’s father said cheerfully, unaware of what had just transpired.

“Yes sir, and Lúta has helped me more than you know.” Legolas flashed him one of his most sincere smiles.

“Lúta is very wise when it comes to raising horses. You could learn a lot from her.”

Legolas turned to her, “I certainly hope to do just that.”

Lúta tried her best not to blush without much luck. Legolas winked and bowed, “I must go or I’ll be late for training. Until our next meeting.”

* * *

Legolas left the practice fields early so that he could spy on Lúta. Just as she said, her father was at the stables promptly at the end of the workday. Father and daughter strolled along the cobblestone path towards a grouping of thatched houses where her family lived. There were many of these groupings throughout Edoras, with paths and roads separating them. Lúta’s family lived in the section that housed mostly city workers. Her father was a blacksmith, and had his own shop close to the cavalry gathering grounds, located at the south end of the hill where Meduseld stood. The stables where Lúta worked were within the same vicinity, and their home was in a settlement just east of Meduseld, all within walking distance.

Legolas followed them at a safe distance, ducking behind house and shed along the way. As he went, he thought about the quick kiss they shared. She had allowed it without hesitancy. That was good. He hadn’t meant to kiss her so soon, but they were in such close proximity, and when their hands brushed against each other . . .

Legolas sighed and felt the same rush of excitement that he had felt when they accidentally touched. He had looked at Lúta and felt the draw, as if he could hold her still with nothing more than his gaze. This was nothing new. He had first discovered this talent with Katala, the Woodsmen’s daughter. It was different then. That had been out of fear for their safety, and a need to calm her. This time it had been to show his feelings towards Lúta, but what were those feelings? Something new was happening to him, some internal battle of wills to be proper or to release something feral. Better to keep it under control, he thought to himself, or he’d risk Lúta never speaking to him again.

Lúta and her father turned a corner and were home. It was a cozy place from the outside. There was the house with a small porch, a window on each side and a solid door in the center, painted in a deep forest green. A short fence surrounded the property, nothing sturdy enough to keep someone out, but rather to keep animals or small children in.

Lúta’s father closed the gate behind them and they went inside. The sun was setting, and the glow from the windows became brighter. Someone was lighting lanterns or candles inside the house. They were busy with their hello’s inside, and Legolas took the opportunity to move cautiously around the outside of the house, hiding behind neighboring huts.

The house was not very wide, but it was long, and there were more windows on the side. He could see movement inside, a woman with golden hair—her mother obviously—her father, and a younger girl, Lúta’s sister. Everyone was busy talking or laughing. No one seemed to care what went on outside.

Legolas found that the neighboring house had a shed in the back, and he decided to make this his hiding spot for now. He moved to the back of the shed, turned an old wooden bucket upside down and sat down. The smell of stew and freshly baked bread wafted past his nose, and his stomach growled. Her family was sitting down for their supper. While they ate, he observed their backyard. There was a small shed on this side of the fenced in yard, wooden crates stacked next to it, a chicken coop at the back center, and a privy in the corner of the far end. Chickens roamed around here and there, the reason for the fence, Legolas guessed. They pecked around aimlessly, doing what chickens do best. Little yellow half-grown chicks rushed here and there. Other chickens were inside their house, sitting on nests or settling down for the night. On top of a crate, in the center of the yard, was a handsome rooster, proud and in charge. His bright red comb stood straight and spiked like a crown. Not a multicolored feather was out of place. His long neck and body were decorated with brown and white, while his tail was speckled with black.

Lúta had mentioned chores. Legolas hoped one of them was checking on the chickens. He could easily hop the fence, and talk with her again. His heart raced at the thought of what he promised her, another kiss before the day was over.

After some time, the lights began to dim inside. The meal was done, the kitchen cleaned, and the family was ready to relax for the evening. The sun had set a while ago, and the clear night sky displayed a million twinkling lights. Still, no one came from the house. Legolas began to think her chores pertained to cleaning inside, not out. He hoped it wasn’t because she changed her mind about seeing him again. She promised him though, and promises were like gold.

The back door creaked open, and the light from a lantern illuminated the ground. A figure came out, turned her head, and spoke to someone inside the house, “I’ll only be a moment. I just want to check to make sure Sis fed them like she said.” It was Lúta. Legolas knew her voice well. She had kept her promise.

She walked slowly down the center of the yard, looking side to side and peering into the darkness. The lantern she carried made it difficult to see much past the glow. She reached the henhouse, lowered the lantern, and checked the feed trays. Everything was in order. Her sister had done well on her first day of her new job of taking care of the chickens. Satisfied, she sat the lantern on a chopping log, a pile of firewood stacked neatly next to it, and an ax protruding from the round block. 

Lúta stepped away from the lantern and looked around. Legolas knew she was looking for him, and he should have showed himself, but he was taking too much joy from watching her unnoticed. She was very pretty in the starlit night. Her hair was unbound, just coming to the small of her waist. He liked her hair better this way, rather than tied up, as it was when she worked at the stable.

“Legolas,” she whispered into the dark, “if you’re out there, I don’t have much time. Show yourself.”

She had called out his name, and it sounded sweeter than any song he had ever heard. He left the safety of his hiding spot, and jumped over the fence, landing on silent booted feet. Tonight he wore his elvish clothes, leggings and tunic. When he wasn’t representing Rohan, he dressed like himself.

Lúta had turned the other way, looking past the privy, wondering if he would show, when suddenly she felt a warm breeze caress her ear. She turned and there he was, like a ghostly apparition materializing from nothing. She gasped and jumped back, but Legolas caught her hand and smiled, “It’s only me. I was waiting for you from behind the shed,” he said, pointing to the neighbor’s yard, “So, you came.”

“Yes, and so did you,” Lúta answered, suddenly at a loss for words. “How … how are you?”

“Fine, since this morning.” He looked down and noticed that he still held her hand, “Better now that I see you again.”

She was suddenly speechless and settled for smiling. Legolas was no help with the awkward silence. He just looked at her with his brilliant blue gaze. Finally, she said the first thing that came to her mind, “So … Arod seems to be doing quite well.”

That internal war was back, twisting Legolas’ insides. The right thing to do was to make casual conversation, but they did that every day at the stables. He finally had her alone, her hand in his, in the dark, beneath the stars. Proper elf was losing to feral elf quickly. There wasn’t much time to say what he wanted to say, “I didn’t come here to talk about horses. I came here to ask you something. I know you have to go soon, so I will just come out and say it. I’ve liked you for a while now, and spending time with you at the stables has been wonderful, but … I would like to … I was wondering if … If you will allow me, I want to—”

Lúta released his hand, bowed her head and turned from him, not the reaction he expected from her. He was stuttering though, and sounding foolish doing it. He collected himself and tried again, “Lúta, I would be honored if you would allow me the pleasure of being my—”

“Legolas,” she interrupted, “I like you too, a lot actually, but my father would never allow me to see you … romantically.”

“What?” he said surprised.

Lúta turned back around to face him, “My father is a strong believer in arrangements, and that includes who he will allow to court me. He likes you, Legolas. He’s said so before, but … you are of a different heritage, and I know he would never—”

“And so you will let him make decisions for you?” he said in a slightly raised voice. This was not how he expected this to go. He had to calm himself, and he reached out for her hand, “I have never felt my heart beat as ferociously as it does when you are near. When we kissed this morning, I felt as if it would burst. And I felt you kiss me back. Tell me you didn’t experience something and I’ll leave.”

“I felt it too. It was wonderful, like nothing I’ve ever felt before, but—”

“Then that is all that should matter. I want to be with you, Lúta, and I’ll do whatever I must to see you again,” he said desperately. He took her chin with the tips of his fingers, and tilted her head up, watching her lips part for him, “Anything at all.” He closed the distance between them, but stopped before their lips touched. He searched her eyes for an answer.

“Kiss me,” she finally whispered.

“And can I see you again?”

“Secretly? No word of this to my family at least, not until I’m ready to speak with them.”

He smiled, “Any way at all. Anything for you.”

Her hand came up to the back of his neck, her fingers twisting in his smooth hair, feeling its softness for the first time, “I will be with you, Legolas,” she whispered in answer, and she pulled him to her, crushing her mouth against his.

Her mouth was soft and warm, wet and demanding. She gave just the right amount of aggressiveness, but not so much that he felt he was not in control. His inner savage suggested all kinds of vulgar things, but the gentleman stepped forward, and quashed that wanton voice.

Lúta released him sooner than he would have liked, “We must be discrete. We cannot be caught courting in public, and my father must not know, at least not yet.”

“So, are you saying you will tell him eventually?” he asked hopefully.

“Give me time to figure out how to approach him. For now, let’s just let this be between us and no one else.”

“Alright,” he said, “I did say anything, but I didn’t say for always.”

“Just for right now,” she assured him.

Suddenly, the back door creaked. Lúta whipped around to see who it was. The tall outline against the glow from the house was unmistakable, “It’s my father. Hurry before—”

As she spoke, she turned back around, but Legolas was already gone, vanished like magic. How could he move so silently, she wondered?

“Lúta?” her father called.

“Coming,” she answered, picking up the lantern, and returning to the house. She glanced back once more, searching the dark for any sign of Legolas. Somehow, she knew he was still there, hiding in the shadows, watching her. She hurried into the house, and wondered if he would stay there for a while, or if he had already dashed off. Her lips still burned from the kiss, and she hoped it was not obvious. Her mind was still in a bit of a whirlwind.

Once in the light, her father gave her a concerned look, “Is everything alright? You look a bit pale.”

“Everything is fine,” she answered with a smile, “It’s just been a long day and I am very tired.”

“Off to bed with you then,” her mother said from behind.

“Yes Mama,” Lúta smiled and kissed her mother’s cheek.

Lúta lay in her bed and thought about Legolas. How could it be that he liked her over all the other girls? She never once went to watch him practice, and until Arod’s birth, she had never even talked to him. They had gotten to know each other better over the past several weeks, while he came to the stables every morning. There was definitely something special between them. Now, they were courting, if you could call it that, she thought … in secret. And how would she ever tell her father? There was no reason to say anything now though. What she and Legolas had was so new that it might not prosper into anything more. No, it was better to wait and see where things would lead before involving her father. Did it even matter though? He would not be happy. She had overheard him speaking to other men, asking about their sons. He was already picking out his choices, gaining information about families with established businesses, seeking the best choice for an arranged marriage that might better his own smithy. But times were changing, and people married for love, not just to merge businesses. She shook her head, “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Lúta. Legolas just likes you, and wants to spend some time with you.” She smiled and sighed as she sunk into her pillow, “Everyone would be so envious … if they ever knew.”

* * *

After their arrangement, Legolas and Lúta spent as much secret time together as they could afford. They saw each other in the mornings while he worked with Arod, and soon they met at the fields where the young horses played. When no one was around, they shared stolen kisses or held hands, growing closer with every passing moment together. This was a difficult task at times, since Lúta’s father kept a watchful eye on her, but he could not be there every minute. She wished she could tell her family about Legolas, and the fact that she just might be falling for him, but her father was very strict about such things. He had plans for who he thought she should marry someday, and an elf definitely was not in the foreseeable future. Nevertheless, it did not change her feelings towards Legolas, and she hoped that maybe he felt the same.

Spring arrived and Legolas was now officially a city guardsman, patrolling part of the western wall. Being one of the new recruits, he was often badgered or sent on useless errands. It was all part of his initiation into the army, and all in good fun. Legolas took it well, and looked forward to the day when someone would be beneath him in ranking so he could have his turn at mockery. All in all, the men liked him and accepted him fully into their brotherhood.

However, the new position with the army left him less time to see Lúta, outside of seeing her when he trained Arod. When they had a quiet moment alone, they made the most of it. Their kisses grew more passionate. Hands were allowed more places to roam, and there were a few daring experiments shared between them. Legolas wanted to take their relationship to the next step, but this would be a very big advancement for both of them. However, their time together always seemed short, not nearly enough time for Legolas to do what he wanted to without rushing things or feeling awkward. Their first time should be special and leisurely, but he was not sure how to accomplish this with either his schedule or her ever-watchful father. He needed advice, but Théodred and Eomer were off on patrol. The men whom he shared guard duty with were much older, and he did not know them well enough to speak of such a personal matter. King Théoden might be of help, but he was very busy, especially since his advisor, Grima, had returned. Besides, he could not talk to just anyone about this, since no one knew about him and Lúta. The last thing he wanted was for her father to find out before she talked to him, whenever that would be. No, Legolas would just wait until his friends came back.

That day finally came a couple months later, when Théodred and Eomer were home on a reprieve. They wasted no time settling back into their old routine … spending an evening at the tavern, laughing, telling stories and reminiscing.

“Is it just me or is the ale becoming more bitter?” Théodred asked, after swallowing half a mug, wrinkling his nose, shrugging his shoulders, and finishing the rest.

“I know we always called it warg piss, but now I’m convinced that one of the foul beasts snuck in, and filled the barrel that this mug came from,” Eomer answered, then he finished it off without taking a breath.

Legolas smiled and nodded in agreement, but made no comment. It was not like him to remain silent, and not add his bit to the conversation.

“You are awfully quiet this evening, Legolas. Do I sense trouble for my young elven friend?” Théodred asked.

“Everything is fine. Guard duty is very satisfying, though I am anxious to join you and Eomer at the borders,” Legolas replied. There was something in his voice that was not quite right.

Eomer, feeling the first effects of the ale, leaned towards Legolas, and looked him in the eye. After an expanded silence, he smiled astutely, “He’s got a girl.”

Théodred planted his elbows on the table and looked closely at his friend, “Now that you mention it, Eomer, he does seem to have that far off look in his eyes. I think perhaps you are right. So, who is she, the same one we discussed last time?”

“Yes … Lúta, she and I have spent some time together, but we have told no one, especially her family. And the only reason I’m telling you is because I know you will not speak of this to anyone,” Legolas seemed a bit self-conscious, and it worried him that they guessed so quickly about the girl.

“I am surprised her father has not found out about it. He watches her like a hawk,” Théodred patted Legolas firmly on the shoulder, “I’m impressed, my friend. Seems you were listening to my advice after all. Quite damn sneaky of you.”

“Well, he still keeps a close eye on her, but lately he’s had other things to focus on. Word is,” Legolas leaned in close, “his smithy has taken a bit of a loss. King Théoden has ordered a decrease in weapon production.”

“What do you mean he has cut production?” Théodred asked concerned.

Legolas shook his head, “I assumed it was because it has been quiet lately, at least that is what he told me when I asked him about it. I find it strange though. Your father was preparing to send new weapons to the Hornburg, but now he’s completely changed his mind.”

“Why do you think he would do such a thing,” Eomer wondered.

“I do not know, but one thing is for sure. Since Grima has returned, there has been more than one subtle change made around here. And do you know what else is strange?” Legolas went on, “Four months has it been since he came back, and not once have I seen him. Théoden tells me he was a bit out of sorts when he first arrived and asked for time to recuperate. Now, it is because he has been busy that I have not yet met this advisor. I find the whole thing rather strange.”

Théodred and Eomer looked at each other, as if trying to come up with an answer, but they had none. Théodred turned back to Legolas, “I’ll speak with my father, and find out what has been happening. Things are not as quiet as you suspect. Does my father not share our reports with the guards here in the city?”

Legolas shook his head, “No, we have had no word of the borders since you left.”

“Grima,” Eomer chimed in, “He always was a bit odd. I never cared much for the man, but I would never tell my uncle. I was glad when he disappeared, I’m ashamed to admit, but I was. The man has changed … makes my skin prickle when I know he’s around. He has a talent for remaining unseen.”

“I get the same feeling when I am in Meduseld, especially when Eowyn and I are spending time together. It’s as if someone is watching from the shadows,” Legolas added.

“And just what have you and my sister been doing,” Eomer said with an accusatory tone.

“Nothing that you might be thinking,” Legolas retorted, “We talk of weapons and swordplay, and occasionally she asks to learn elvish.”

A servant swooshed past their table, only stopping long enough to take up their empty mugs, and replace them with full ones. All three friends drank heartily before they continued the conversation.

“I do not think you have to worry about your sister,” Théodred said, “Legolas has eyes for Lúta it seems.

Since they were back on the subject, it seemed now was as good a time as any to discuss his dilemma. Legolas regarded Théodred with a mischievous smile. “Truth be told, Lúta and I … well, I think … I think we might—”

“Ready to get your tip wet are you? I knew it wouldn’t take long,” Eomer interrupted.

“Why do you have to be so vulgar?” Legolas said annoyed, “It is more than that with Lúta. She is special, and that is why I’m seeking advice, but I can see that I might have made a mistake by coming to you for—”

“I’m only jesting, my friend,” Eomer slapped Legolas’ shoulder, “See here then … you like her and she likes you. Tell her you have something you want to show her, sneak off to somewhere dark and private, and have your way with her. What more do you need to know?”

Théodred rolled his eyes at his cousin, “You obviously have no more experience than Legolas.” He turned back to Legolas, “What you need to do is woo her. Loosen her up a bit. But I’ll tell you this, not even your elvish charm will get a girl like Lúta to … shall we say, open up for you.” Théodred laughed to himself before continuing, “You’ll need something stronger than that pretty elf speech. I suggest a bottle of heady wine. Just a few sips will relax her and make her warm. Add some strategic ministrations, and the girl will be yours.” While the prince was talking to Legolas, he hadn’t noticed Eomer leaning in closer, taking mental notes.

“How do I … I mean, how does Legolas acquire this potent vintage you speak of?” Eomer asked eagerly.

“Why do you ask, cousin? Is there a potential lover in your future also?” Théodred asked, cocking a dark eyebrow.

“Well, since we are on the subject, yes. I have a girl waiting for me to make my move,” Eomer admitted.

“I thought so,” Théodred mumbled, then he straightened his shoulders, and regarded his cousin with a kinder face, “Who is she then?”

Eomer ran his finger around the edge of his mug, “Her name is Alfía.”

“And?” Théodred asked when his cousin did not continue.

Eomer glanced from Théodred to Legolas, “She’s a shield maiden,” he spoke quietly.

Legolas raised a brow, and Théodred crossed his arms. There was something Eomer was not telling them.

“And . . .?” Legolas added, drawing out the word.

“And . . .” Eomer brought his mug to his mouth and spoke into his cup, “She is Eowyn’s best friend.” He rushed the words out quickly.

“Say that again?” Théodred said, leaning closer in case his cousin mumbled again. 

“She is Eowyn’s best friend,” Eomer finally admitted, taking another long swig of ale.

“Best friend! Eomer, what are you thinking?” Théodred blurted out, “You’ve got yourself buried deep with this one. Don’t you know the rules? Never get involved with your sister’s friends.”

“If she is a shield maiden,” Legolas said, putting emphasis on the word, “then he won’t be needing any of that wine. The palm of his hand will be his companion.”

Théodred and Eomer turned their heads towards Legolas, and stared at him a moment before Eomer spoke, “You forget Théodred’s story about the women’s barracks.”

“Well I … I just assumed that was only a story,” Legolas stuttered.

“Are you saying that I lied?” Théodred challenged.

“But Eowyn told me about the oath that they take, and how they are to remain—”

Eomer knitted his brows, “As far as my sister believes, it is true … and if any of you tell her otherwise, I swear I will—”

Théodred laid a strong hand on Eomer’s shoulder, stopping him. Eomer’s shoulders relaxed and he leaned back in his chair, but his cold stare did not leave Legolas. Théodred returned his attention towards the elf, “There was a time in days of old when Rohirric women took this oath very seriously and some still do,” he paused and nodded at Eomer, then continued, “but not all of them follow this rule. Some of them like to have their fun, if you know what I mean. It is kept quiet though, since it is still looked down upon, to claim to be a maiden when one is not. And trust me, my girl is far removed from being a maiden, and I am very thankful for that. She is quite amorous, if you know what I mean. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. There’s something different about a woman who knows how to fight.”

Théodred wiggled his eyebrows at his audience, but received no reaction, “Anyways, no one will say anything to anyone, but Eomer … you’d better watch yourself. If Eowyn finds out that you’re not only interested in her friend, but that you want her to break her oath, then I’m afraid Legolas will be right about you and your hand. Now, pertaining to Legolas … Lúta is not a shield maiden, and if I’m correct, you’re asking us to help you get her alone. Any ideas?”

“I’m not sure,” Legolas answered doubtfully, “As you know, her father constantly checks on her. I think she needs an excuse, something to tell her father so that he won’t be suspicious, and so that we can have at least a few hours alone,” Legolas said.

“What about the stable? There is no one around at nighttime, unless one of the mares needs watching over,” Eomer offered.

“I have thought about that. It is not unusual for her to be there late into the evening. Still, if her father—”

“Don’t worry about him. Eomer and I will keep a look out, and we’ll warn you if we see him coming,” Théodred added to the plan.

“I don’t think I want the two of you hanging around while Lúta and I … well, I don’t need an audience is all.”

“We won’t be around the stable. We’ll stay further up the path, and watch for anyone who might interrupt your evening,” Eomer added as he tried to convince Legolas.

“I … I guess that could work,” Legolas turned to Théodred, “But I’m not sure of your idea about the wine.”

Théodred smiled wickedly, “Trust me on this. If you want to get to her goods, you need to take the edge off, otherwise you’ll never get her ankles to uncrossed. I’ll even supply it for you if that will help. I know where my father keeps a rare vintage.”

With a plan devised and the evening getting late, the three friends went back to their home in the King’s hall. As they walked through the main hall, Théodred noticed that the hearth had gone cold, “That’s odd.”

“Yes, it has been a bit more chilled in the hall as of late. Someone keeps allowing the embers to extinguish. I’m surprised your father has not said anything,” Legolas commented.

At that exact moment, Legolas caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A black shape moved along the shadows. He could have sworn he heard the sound of a snake hissing. Perhaps it was someone’s robes slithering across the stone floor. Whatever it was, it quickly disappeared around a corner, leaving Legolas with an uneasy feeling of being watched. He said nothing to Théodred or Eomer, who seemed not to notice.

The friends said goodnight, Théodred going off towards his room while Legolas and Eomer went the opposite direction. Legolas stopped and peered into the dark shadows once more.

“What is it?” Eomer asked when heard the elf stop.

“Nothing,” he whispered and went off with his friend.

* * *

A few days later, Legolas was at the fields watching Arod interact with the other horses. He had grown so much over the past several months. Arod was an instigator it seemed, always enticing the others to play or to run off further than their mothers would have liked. He just wanted to run, and Legolas could not wait for the day when he could ride him.

The elf was sitting on a wooden fence beneath an oak that grew close by. It was bliss to be close to the old tree. It creaked and moaned in the breeze, and Legolas listened carefully. To a human ear, it was just the sound of wood moving, but to an elf, it was the whispering of long forgotten tales. He looked up into its branches, “I should like to visit the old forest someday and if I do, I shall tell them you are here. I wish you did not have to stand here alone.”

The wind blew again, and the tree groaned. Legolas nodded, “You are right. You cannot choose where your roots take hold.” He looked down and straightened the shirt of his guard uniform. “I know that better than anyone,” he said sadly, “Besides, I think this is just the right place for you. There is no fear of the Rohirrim cutting you down, and I am glad to have your company.”

“Talking to the trees again?” said a sweet voice from behind.

Legolas turned to see Eowyn standing there, her bright blue eyes sparkling in the summer sun. She wore a simple brown dress, and her long curly hair was tied back with a ribbon. Eowyn always had a smile for him, no matter what her mood might be. She was like a sister to him, and he cared a great deal for her.

“Eowyn, you could light up the darkest cave with your smile.” He looked up into the tree again, “My friend here was just telling me how happy he is to be among the Rohirrim.”

Eowyn laid a gentle hand on the trunk of the tree, “Well, tell him that we are happy to have him too, and we appreciate his shade and shelter on such a warm day as this.”

Legolas laughed. “He can hear you, you know, and he understands all that is said beneath his boughs.”

Eowyn merely smiled and patted the tree. Then she climbed onto the fence, and sat next to her friend. They were quiet for a while, watching the horses dart around the field. Arod jumped and kicked his back legs into the air, making both of them laugh at the sight.

“He’s is such a free spirit, isn’t he?” Legolas asked.

“Very much, just like his rider,” Eowyn admitted, “Like you, he follows his own set of rules. It is a perfect match, the two of you.” She gazed off into the distance, narrowing her eyes against the glare of the sun, “Speaking of matches, the word is that you and Lúta—”

Legolas interrupted, “And how did you come to know about us?”

“You forget that Eomer cannot keep a secret from his sister.”

“I told him not to tell anyone about it. I should have known,” he said disappointedly.

“I hope that I am not just anyone. And don’t worry about Eomer or Théodred. They would never say anything to Lúta’s family,” Eowyn smiled. Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted, “And yes, Eomer also told me that you were keeping this a secret from her family. I can’t say that I agree, but I can understand why. Her father is very strict.”

“Lúta would kill me if she knew that the three of you—”

“You can’t keep something like this a secret from those closest to you, Legolas. This is your first love, and Théodred, Eomer and I are like your family.”

That thought warmed Legolas’ heart. They were his only family, and the only people he could talk to about such important life changing things. He smiled shyly, but wouldn’t meet Eowyn’s eyes, “It is definitely a relief to talk to someone about Lúta and me.” 

Eowyn smiled and glanced at him from the corner of her eye, “I know I called it your first love, but … is it truly love do you think?”

“Well, I … I’ve never been in love so … I … I’m not sure.” He felt awkward talking to her about his personal life. 

“Does your stomach feel like a thousand butterflies fluttering around inside whenever she is close to you? Do you find yourself smiling when she says your name? Can you not wait until the next time you see her again?”

“Yes to all three,” Legolas laughed.

“Then you, my friend, are in love.” Eowyn moved closer to him so they could whisper, just in case someone snuck up behind them, “She is very beautiful and very sweet. I think you are made for each other.”

Over the past few days, Legolas’ mind had been busy trying to find a way to get Lúta alone. He gave Théodred’s advice a lot of thought, but something just did not sit well about getting her drunk. Still, it seemed to be common practice amongst many of the young Rohirrim boys, usually with satisfactory results. However, something inside Legolas’ heart wanted this moment to mean more than the obvious. This first time together would only happen once in his immortal life, and only once for Lúta also. He sighed deeply, and looked straight ahead, past the horses playing, past the fence on the far side of the field, past the mountains in the distance, as if he could see through solid rock, “Eowyn, I … I’ve been giving a lot of thought to something lately. Perhaps you might help me with it.”

“Sure, what is it?” she asked cheerfully.

It was much easier to talk to Eomer or Théodred. They would have already known what he was talking about, but with Eowyn, it had to be explained. “Well, since we are on the subject of Lúta and love and what comes along with those feelings . . .” He waited for her to catch up.

Eowyn was training to be a shield maiden and very adamant about the oath she took, but she was not blind to what others did. She smiled at the thought, pleased that Legolas would come to her for advice, “Well, my first thought would be to tell you both to wait, for that is what I would do, but I know not everyone sees things the same way. However, you have said that you love her, and that is more than most men would admit to.”

“It definitely feels right with her,” Legolas admitted, “And I think she wants this too. I am not sure how I know. It is just something I sense from her when we are close.”

Eowyn giggled, “You are very charming and trustworthy, and the girls are drawn to this. It’s hard to explain, but I think they know you will not harm them or toy with their hearts. Every girl wants someone like you to be their first lover.”

Legolas leaned his shoulder against hers, “Even you?” he teased, making her blush.

“I don’t think you could wait that long, but under different circumstances . . .” Eowyn enjoyed teasing him too.

“So let me guess,” she went on, “You have already spoken to my brother and Théodred about this, and knowing them, they suggested alcohol as an aphrodisiac, am I right?” Legolas just laughed and she shook her head, “Idiots,” she muttered, “And to think that Théodred will be our King one day. Aye, Rohan will be in trouble for sure. Well, at least you were smart enough not to listen to their preposterous advice. I suggest that you just simply be you. If your hearts are involved, it will just feel right. If not, then it wasn’t meant to happen,” Eowyn smiled and sighed, “I can’t wait until I meet my forever. I know he’s out there somewhere.”

“And he will be the luckiest man on earth to have your heart,” Legolas kissed her cheek, making her blush again, “So, how goes your training?”

“Oh, I am so excited. We will be learning swordplay soon, and by the end of the summer, we will have our first exercise in wilderness survival.”

“Wilderness survival?” he asked curiously.

“Yes, we will have to live in the woods alone for a fortnight. It’s all part of the training. A shield maiden must be ready for any scenario, not just protecting the city when the men are away. We do this at least once a year.”

Legolas laughed, “That explains why Théo is so ill tempered sometimes.” He was referring to Théodred’s woman, of course.

Eowyn shook her head, “Tell me Legolas, is my cousin serious about Rawynn? Don’t get me wrong, she is nice enough it seems, but she has a bit of a wild side. Should he decide to marry her, she would be our queen and—”

“I wouldn’t worry about Théodred. He will do what is right. Théoden has seen to it that he will rule wisely,” Legolas answered, “Well, it is getting late, and I must be going. I have guard duty soon.” He jumped down from the fence and offered Eowyn a hand, helping her to the ground, “Can I walk you back?”

“That would be lovely,” she smiled, accepting his arm, “Have I told you how handsome you look in your guard uniform? You set a fine example for Rohan. I’m glad you came to live amongst us, Legolas.”

“Thank you, Eowyn,” he answered sincerely, “And thank you for your advice.”

“Think nothing of it. I’m just glad I could help.” They walked a few paces before she spoke again, “Lúta is very lucky.” She kissed his cheek and they continued up the path back to the city, very content to be in each other’s company.


	14. Lies and Love

Théoden sat in his quarters, pouring over papers, and finishing the day’s work, when there was a knock on his door. He called for the visitor to enter and in walked Grima, dressed all in black robes that matched his stringy charcoal hair. His attire was in stark contrast to his pale skin, making him look sickly. Even his eyes had seemed sunk in and darker than Théoden had remembered. The King was reminded of the vultures that haunted a battleground after a bloody fight, circling and waiting for the reward of a hideous feast. Why was he feeling this threat from his chief advisor? Never had Grima given him a reason to feel uneasy in his presence as he did now. Though a bit of an odd sort, he had been a faithful servant to the king. Since his disappearance and unexpected return to Edoras, he seemed to be a different man, more untrusting of others. Théoden tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, and said it was due to his traumatic experiences. Still, he was unsure of Grima’s story about his vanishing.

Grima had told the King that, while running an errand for Rohan, he felt he was being chased by an unseen foe. He was worried that something watched him, lurking in the shadows. The need to stay one step ahead was great, but there was always the threat of an indiscernible evil biting at his heels. Grima hid from the veiled enemy that chased him and kept him from his duty. Somehow, he managed to make his way to Isengard where the Maia, Saruman the White, found him cowering at the edge of his lands, hiding amongst the rocks and trees. The wizard took the man in, gave him food and a bed, letting him rest and recover. When he was well enough, Saruman told Grima about the spreading darkness and that it was too dangerous to travel back. Grima was already terrorized by his time in the wilderness, alone with only a small dagger for a weapon and no food. He said he had lost his important belongings as well as his horse during a storm that he had been caught in one ominous night. Staying in Isengard was a welcomed gift.

This part of Grima’s story was true. It had all happened just as he told Théoden. The parts that followed, however, were naught but a story masked with lies that the old wizard fed to Grima with the hope that he would relay them to Rohan and its King. It was no mistake that Grima felt he was being chased. In fact, Saruman played a part in most everything that happened to the peculiar man. The wizard’s magic directed him to Isengard. Once in the Maia’s grasp, he began feeding false information to Grima, poisoning the man’s mind until he fully trusted Saruman. The man was eventually promised riches beyond anyone’s imagining and a seat at the White Wizard’s side. He played on Grima’s weaknesses and his loneliness, insuring him that his power would allow him to have anything or anyone he wanted, just as long as he did what he was told. After much flattery and persuasion, Saruman managed to manipulate Grima into becoming his henchman, and his first task was set upon Rohan. When the wizard was satisfied that the man was thoroughly under his command, he set Grima free to carry out his mission.

Before he left, Saruman gave Grima a ring, enchanted by dark magic. It was silver, in the shape of a horse’s head and a single red ruby for an eye, nothing that would bring suspicion to the horse lords of Rohan. However, this special ring had a secret that only Grima could execute. When he circled the ruby with his finger, it opened, revealing a white powder within. Just a pinch mixed into a drink was enough to start poisoning its victim. This was Saruman’s special concoction, just enough to make someone weak or slightly ill, but not enough to cause death, not yet anyways. The magic of the ring was that the compartment refilled all on its own when the powder was spent. All Grima had to do was to dispense the toxicant into Théoden’s cup, and keep doing so until his body was weakened enough for Saruman to invade the King’s mind. The eventual outcome was to destroy Rohan, the first step in Saruman’s plan to overthrow the dark lord Sauron and become sole ruler of Middle-earth. There was still a lot to accomplish, however.

“Sire, may I have a word with you?” Grima asked as he slithered into Théoden’s room.

“Of course, come in,” Théoden answered, stacking his papers and pushing them to the side.

Grima, as he always did, walked directly to a shelf where the King kept a silver decanter of brandy, a rarity in Rohan. He took a small cup and placed it on a table. Then he removed the stopper, carefully setting it on the shelf. As he worked, he spoke, “I could not help but notice that you have allowed the elf a place in the army. Do you think it wise to give him this privilege?”

“Legolas is just as capable, if not more, than any of our young soldiers. He has been nothing but honorable and trustworthy. He needed a home, and I took him in, gave him the same opportunity as any of our young men, and he has proven without a doubt that he would do what he must to defend our people.”

Grima looked over his shoulder, waiting for the opportunity to slip his secret talc into the King’s cup, but now was not the time, “I am sorry, my liege. I do not mean to tell you what to do. I am only concerned because of some of the whispers I have heard while—” Grima stopped himself and turned to Théoden with an awkward smile, “Well, it is none of my concern now is it? You have made a wise decision.”

Théoden stood from his chair, watching Grima, whose back was turned, “If someone speaks ill of Legolas, I would have you tell me,” Théoden demanded.

“I believe it was merely a rumor brought on by a jealous trainee, nothing more, and not important … but there was talk of concern that the elf … I mean, Legolas may be using magic to sway some people’s decisions,” Grima waited for the King’s response.

Théoden shook his head and turned his back to Grima, giving the advisor the opportunity to empty the contents of the ring into the glass of brandy. He swirled the cup a few times, making sure there was no trace of the powder and then spun around just in time to face Théoden. The King seemed perturbed by this information, “That is preposterous. Elves have no such magic.”

Grima shrugged his shoulders and approached Théoden with the brandy in his bony hand. He offered it to the King, who took it and sipped slowly, savoring the unique flavor.

“I agree, my liege,” he guffawed, “Elves and … and magic, ridiculous.” 

He started to turn away but stopped, as if in deep thought, “Although . . .” he took another pregnant pause for better effect, “Never mind, you are right. It is utter nonsense.”

For some reason, Théoden was suddenly interested in what Grima was about to say, “No, go on. What are your thoughts?”

“Well, I was just thinking of Lothlórien, and their failed attempt to rid Dol Guldur of the filth that resides there. The elves of the Golden Wood had no reason to collaborate forces with the Woodsmen and the Beornings. Their army was large enough to accomplish this task on their own. Yet, they called up these men, our cousins mind you, and it cost many men their lives, lessening their numbers. Meanwhile, Lothlorien lost fewer and had the greater power,” Grima brought his fingers to his chin, “Wasn’t it the Woodsmen who brought Legolas here?”

“Yes . . . yes it was. He lived amongst them for a while after the burning of Mirkwood,” Théoden answered with intriguing curiosity.

“It is strange, and makes me wonder how the elves persuaded men to join their cause so easily. And a curious thing that disaster seems to follow Legolas wherever he goes; the only elf to survive Mirkwood’s destruction, the Woodsmen forced to leave their city, and then the Beornings.” Grima smiled and waved his hand in the air as if chasing away his thoughts, “But what do I know of such things.”

Théoden creased his brows. “If you are suggesting that Legolas is a spy—”

“No, Sire … no, I would never say such a thing,” Grima drew a submissive stance, bowing his head and looking away from the King, “I was only pointing out the oddity of it.”

Théoden had an uneasy feeling about their conversation. Since taking Legolas into his home, no one had ever questioned his decision. The elf was accepted as an equal, a citizen of Rohan and nothing more. The idea that Grima or anyone else would cast doubt on Legolas’ loyalty was absurd, and he would not stand for it. Anger rose in his chest and he would have confronted his advisor about these suspicions, but he was suddenly feeling rather drained of energy, and he reached his hand out towards his desk to steady himself.

“Are you alright, Sire?” Grima asked mocking concern.

“Yes, just feeling a bit tired. I think I shall turn in for the evening,” Théoden turned towards his door.

“Very well my King.” Grima bowed and watched Théoden leave his office. Then he smiled to himself and eyed his ring. “Slowly it will all come together,” he whispered before slinking out of the room.

* * *

Legolas was waiting behind an old shed, anxious about what the night would bring. Everything was planned perfectly. Lúta’s story for why she had to work in the stable was enough to convince her family, especially her father. Théodred and Eomer would keep watch to make sure no one walked in on them unannounced. Legolas had even gone to the stable earlier and prepared an empty stall with blankets, a lantern and some food, just to help her feel more at ease. He wanted this to be the perfect evening for both of them, since they were taking a very big step. This was the right time, and Lúta was the right girl. Soon, Legolas heard someone coming up the path.

“Legolas?” Lúta whispered as she walked along.

He waited until she walked past his hiding spot, then he casually strolled up beside her and took her arm, “Good evening, Lúta,” his smile was infectious.

“Oh,” she cried, startled by his sudden presence, “I did not even hear you.”

She smiled and gazed into his eyes, shining like the stars in the pale moonlight. She was used to seeing him in his guardsman uniform, leather pants, long metal tunic and heavy deep red chest armor. Tonight he looked relaxed and much more elvish in his moss green leggings and a long brown suede tunic that hung loosely. His hair was unbound, hanging straight and long. She couldn’t help but notice how it shined like gold under the light of the half-moon above. Lúta laughed to herself, “You do not dress like the men when you are not in uniform.”

“Is there something wrong with how I look,” he asked in a teasing fashion. 

“Oh, not at all. In fact, you look very handsome … and elvish. I like that about you. You stand out from all the others, even though you try very hard to fit in.”

“I love Rohan and I know how fortunate I am to live under King Théoden’s roof. He has been a great mentor, and he has given me every opportunity, as if I was his own flesh and blood. Still, I am very aware of my elvish roots. That will always call to me above all else.”

Lúta stretched her neck and kissed his cheek, “Never change for anyone, Legolas. You are perfect just as you are.”

A little further down the stone path that led to the stables, they passed Théodred. Legolas instantly shot him a look of warning not to interfere. Lúta hadn’t known that he and Eomer were playing lookout tonight, and Legolas wanted to keep it that way. The prince stopped them and greeted them properly, “Good evening, my friend. Lovely night for a stroll is it not?”

“Quite wonderful,” Legolas answered.

Lúta curtsied, “Good evening, Prince Théodred. It is good to see you back in Edoras. I hope all is well at our borders.”

“Very well in fact, no worries,” Théodred answered politely. Not wanting to keep them, he bowed, smiling, and said, “Enjoy your evening.” Then he gave Legolas a quick wink before he walked on.

“He will make a fine king one day,” Lúta commented.

“And I will be proud to serve under his command as a soldier.”

Lúta have him a questioning look, “Don’t you want to become a Marshall and be in charge of your own troops?”

“I’d be happy with any rank in the army, though it would feel very satisfying to lead my own patrol.”

A little further on they came upon Eomer. He was sitting on a bench, his dagger in one hand and a sharpening stone in the other. Again, Legolas worried about what he might say. He could never be too careful when it came to these two.

Eomer saw them approaching and stood up, bowing as was proper greeting, “Legolas, what a surprise to see you here, and Lúta, always a pleasure.”

Legolas returned the greeting with a bow and a smile, “Good evening, Eomer.”

“Hello Eomer, how is that foal behaving lately,” Lúta asked.

“He’s as feisty as ever. Firefoot will be a handful by the time he’s old enough to be ridden,” Eomer answered.

“Well, keep at it then or you’ll have a bigger problem on your hands than you will want. You don’t want him becoming as stubborn as Brego. Théodred is the only one who can ride him, which makes it difficult when he is being cared for at the stables.”

Eomer smiled and nodded, “I will make sure that does not happen, Lady Lúta.”

“I will see you back at the hall,” Legolas interrupted and Eomer got the signal.

“Oh … oh yes, enjoy the evening. Good night then,” Eomer replied, and he pretended to head back home.

Legolas and Lúta finally arrived at the stable. All was quiet and the windows were dark. No one was there, just as he predicted. Before they went in, Lúta looked up with a sly smile. “So, do we have chaperones for the evening?”

Legolas pretended to be confused, “Chaperones?”

“Come now, Legolas, did you not think I would find it a bit odd to run into Théodred and Eomer tonight of all nights?”

He raised his hand to his head, running his fingers through his hair, trying to come up with a believable answer. Lúta laughed, “I can always tell when I have you over a barrel.” She gestured to his hand combing his platinum hair.

Legolas never knew he was so easy to read and made a mental note to change that trait. Then he laughed nervously, “Alright, I’ll come clean. They volunteered to keep watch for us tonight, just in case someone comes along. They won’t bother us, I promise.” To change the subject quickly, Legolas took Lúta’s hands, rubbing his thumbs over her palms, “Are you alright with this, with us?”

“Are you?” she asked.

“I … I think so,” he said nervously.

“We’ll just take it one moment at a time, no pressure for either of us.”

Legolas brushed his hand across the side of her face, leaned to her and kissed her lightly upon her lips. When they separated, they looked into each other’s eyes, and everything seemed to fall into place. Without any words needing to be spoken, Legolas opened the door and waited for Lúta to go inside. Then he followed her and closed the door behind them.

There was a low flicker of a lantern at the far end of the stable. Legolas led her by the arm, feeling as if it was the longest distance he had ever walked. They came to the open stall and Lúta looked in. Legolas had arranged it perfectly. The smell of fresh hay was common, but lavender mingled along the edge of her senses, a very relaxing scent. A few hay bales were arranged in such a way that they looked like a small chaise draped with a dark blue blanket. Another bale made a table holding a lantern and a basket with part of a loaf of bread and a few pieces of fruit. Then she saw a bottle of wine and cocked an eyebrow as she regarded Legolas suspiciously, “Seems as though you thought of everything.”

Legolas noticed the wine and felt himself blush, “That would be a gift from Théodred and Eomer,” he said softly, embarrassed by the suggestion, “I told them this was not how I wanted our evening to proceed.”

He walked over to the makeshift table and picked up the bottle to remove it, but Lúta stopped him as she gazed down upon the rich brown fur throws on the stall floor, feeling the butterflies in her stomach begin to flutter anxiously.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind a sip or two.”

Legolas set the bottle down and smiled, “I guess just a taste would not harm us.” He looked around their accommodations and gestured with his outstretched arms, “How did I do? I hope I thought of everything.”

Lúta giggled, “You have done a marvelous job. I hardly know we are in a stable.”

Legolas led her to the rustic version of a couch, and they had a seat. They sat close, but no one said a word until Lúta finally found her voice, “Legolas, why … why me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why have you chosen me above all the others? I see how many of the girls watch your steps pinning for you and hoping you will see them. Why did you pick me?”

Legolas took her hand, “I did not pick you, as you put it. It just happened. I saw you one day with your red hair falling into your eyes,” He stopped and laughed, “No matter how many times you pushed it aside, it just kept getting in your way. You seemed rather annoyed, but I could not help but think how beautiful you were. Then I spoke to you and learned how intelligent you are. Then I kissed you and I just knew. No one else makes my heart beat as rapidly as it does when I am with you.” He captured her with his azure eyes, and held her within his spell. Leaning towards her, he kissed her, deepening it with every brush of his determined lips until they were both at ease, swept away by the rush of emotions that swirled between them.

When they parted, Lúta looked up to his handsome face and smiled, “I don’t think we will need the wine after all.”

Legolas kissed her fully and confidently, laying her down on the makeshift settee, and settling on top of her. She felt so warm through her dress, but she shivered. She was frightened. So was he.

“Lúta,” he whispered. He searched her face, memorizing everything about the moment, “I am glad it is with you.”

He felt her relax a bit and stop shivering as their eyes connected. The smell of fresh sweet hay and burning oil from the lantern hung in the air. The horses whinnied quietly in the background, as if they too were trying to give the couple their privacy. Legolas knew this moment would burn into his memory like a drawing in a book, forever etched on his mind to draw upon in later days. The night would hold many of these moments. This was only the start.

* * *

Lúta woke to the sound of a hushed voice calling from a nearby window, “Legolas … Lúta. Hey you two love birds, wake up.”

Lúta gasped and sat up. She and Legolas had only wanted to rest a moment, but it seemed that they had both fallen asleep. She gave a desperate whisper, “Legolas … oh no, Legolas wake up.”

Missing the feel of her naked body curled against him, and still in a dream state, Legolas reached for her and pulled her back down onto their temporary bed of fur throws and the blue blanket, “Not yet, just a few more minutes. You feel so good in my arms,” he said sleepily.

Even on the verge of panic, her heart skipped a beat at the sound of his words. Legolas had been so tender and caring. She hoped she had brought him some kind of joy also, and from the sound of it, she had, “I wish we had all night, but someone’s calling from the window.”

Legolas sprung up from the fur throws and looked around for his clothes. His leggings lay closest to him so he grabbed them and threw them on quickly, “How long have we been asleep?” he asked as he dressed. Lúta shrugged her shoulders, half way fitted into her dress. Legolas pulled his tunic over his head and looked to the window. The top of Eomer’s blond head just showed over the edge of the sill, “What is it? Is someone coming?”

“It’s Lúta’s father. He is on his way here. You two have stayed much too long,” Eomer warned. “Legolas, you need to leave … now!” Eomer’s gold head disappeared from the window.

Legolas looked around the stall in a panic. “We have to hide these things or he’ll know something happened here tonight.”

While he talked, Lúta quickly gathered the blanket and throws, and shoved them at Legolas, “What about you? If he sees you here, he’ll figure it out quicker than a lightning strike.”

The main door to the stable creaked open, and her father stepped inside, “Lúta, are you still here, child? It is late and your mother and I were worried for you.”

“Oh … Father … yes, yes I’m still here. Everything is fine. I … I just fell asleep is all. You can go home and tell Mother I’ll be there in a minute,” she called.

Meanwhile, Legolas was throwing the blankets and the half-empty basket of food out of the window, hoping Eomer was still out there to catch and hide them. He looked around the stall once more and noticed the half bottle of wine in the corner, picked it up, and tossed it out the window. Someone below gave a cry and Legolas smiled. It seemed Eomer was still there just as he had hoped.

Lúta shoved Legolas towards the window, “Hurry, go now!”

Legolas suddenly felt the excitement of almost being caught. What a rush it gave him to be so daring and secretive. Lúta was in an absolute frenzy, and all he could do was draw up visions of their night together. He smiled a fiendish grin and grabbed her by the waist. Lúta pushed him, but he had a tight hold on her.

“Legolas, what are you doing? Get out of here. Do you want to get caught?”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I want to tell the world that I have fallen in love to the most beautiful girl in all of Rohan.” His words enticed her, and she forgot about the severity of their situation. He captured her lips and kissed her passionately.

Lúta’s mind and body wanted to give in to him until she heard the sound of footsteps walking across the hay-strewn floor and coming closer. Reluctantly, she pushed Legolas away and this time he allowed her to. Then her alarm turned to begging, “You need to go, Legolas, please.”

He smiled, his dimples showing, his blue eyes dancing with new life. Her red hair had fallen into her eyes, and Legolas reached for it, tucking it behind her ear; oh, how long he had wanted to do that. His fingers traced the side of her cheek, and he memorized her beautiful face. Then he dashed to the window and sprang up and over the edge with little effort, disappearing into the night. Lúta sighed with relief, but suddenly realized she had not replied to his admittance of his love for her. Her father was only a few strides from the stall, but she did not care as she rushed to the window, jumping onto a bale of hay.

“Legolas,” she called from the window, and there he was. He hadn’t left yet. She smiled and stifled a giggle, “I … I love you too.”

At that same moment, Lúta’s father was about to step around the corner. Legolas quickly ducked and trotted off on silent bare feet, realizing he had left his boots behind. Too late, he thought to himself.

Lúta jumped down from the hay and stood with her hands behind her back, trying terribly hard not to look suspicious. Her father regarded her curiously. “Why are you still here at this late hour? What have you been doing all this time?” He picked a piece of hay from her hair, “You are a mess.”

If he knew, he would surely hunt down Legolas and mount his stuffed arse on the wall. She smiled sweetly and mocked a stretch and a yawn, raising her arms over her head. “I’m awfully sorry, Father. One of the horses was acting rather peculiar at the end of the day so I decided to stay and keep a close eye on him, and I guess I fell asleep. I was afraid he had colic, but it turns out it was only an upset stomach and a lot of—” She pinched her nose and waved her hand back and forth in the air.

“That must be the reason I smelled lavender when I came in,” he laughed, “to cover the smell.” Feeling that she was behaving a little odd, he glanced around the stall, his eyes narrowing in the dim light. Something dark caught his attention, “Is that a pair of boots?”

Lúta heart leapt into her throat as she turned to see Legolas’ black boots lying in the corner, “Boots? Oh yes … someone must have left them here. I hadn’t noticed.”

Her father walked in and picked up the shoes for a closer examining, “These belong to the elf, Legolas.”

“Oh … well, he leaves an extra pair here. Sometimes he is in his guardsman uniform and, as you well know, those are not the most comfortable shoes.” Lúta took them from her father and smiled, “I will just put them outside of Arod’s stall so he will find them later.”

He watched his daughter for a silent moment, and then smiled when he was satisfied that everything was fine, “Let’s get you home now. You’ll need to be back here in a few hours.”

Lúta sighed, relieved that her father did not suspect anything. That was too close of a call. She and Legolas would have to be more careful next time. Next time, she thought to herself. Next time could not come soon enough. She already missed her lover, and could barely contain her happiness to hear him say he loved her again.

* * * 

Legolas and Eomer hid outside at the back of the stable until they saw Lúta and her father walk along the path back to her house. They came out of the bushes, arms full of blankets. Eomer adjusted his load and rubbed the top of his head where the wine bottle hit him, “That hurt you know,” he complained. Legolas shoved him rather hard.

“Hey,” Eomer cried, “What was that for?”

“Could you not have given us more warning? I almost got caught, and what do you think would happen if I did?”

“But you didn’t, did you? So, it all worked out well enough. Stop your complaining,” Eomer argued.

They continued up the grassy courtyard at the foot of Meduseld until they reached the stairs. Neither one said much along the way, but now they stopped, almost too tired to climb to the top. Legolas looked at Eomer, “Where is Théodred?”

“I don’t know. That is why I didn’t warn you until it was almost too late. Théo was supposed to signal to me if he saw someone coming, but he never did. I was the one who saw Lúta’s father coming up the path. Maybe he fell asleep.”

“Or maybe he was distracted. Well, I guess it all worked out in the end.”

Eomer smiled and nudged Legolas with his shoulder, “So, how was it?”

Legolas’ face beamed, “There are no words to describe the feeling. It was … it ... was . . . Eomer, my friend, I think I am in love.”

Eomer shook his head, “That’s it then,” he said making up his mind, “I don’t care if she’s a shield maiden, and I don’t care if she’s Eowyn’s best friend. I’m not going to be left behind while you and Théodred have all the fun.” They started to ascend the stairs when Eomer took Legolas by the arm to stop him, “Uh, you will tell me what to expect and how to … well, you know, satisfy her, won’t you.”

Legolas smiled and patted him on the back, “I will even be your look out if you wish.” The two friends shared a laugh, and finally continued on to their rooms to get a few hours of sleep before the sun rose and the new day started.

* * * 

In the shadows, Grima went unnoticed by either Legolas or Eomer. He could not sleep and was out for a walk, scouring his brain for new ways to cause mistrust amongst his fellow Rohirrim, when he saw the two boys coming home. He quickly scrabbled to a nearby bush and crouched down out of sight while he listened. It did not take much to realize what they had been up to at this late hour.

“So, the elf has found himself a girl,” anger festered in his mind, “He should not be here. His eye is too keen, and his mind is too sharp. He will spoil my plans. I need to get rid of him somehow.” As he listened, he heard Legolas say Lúta’s name. Grima knew of the girl, and knew who her father was.

“The blacksmith’s daughter, hmm, maybe I can use this to my advantage somehow. Get rid of the girl and maybe I can get rid of the elf as well.” Grima rubbed his scaly hands together, and began devising a plan.


	15. Part of the Plan

Warm summer nights gave way to cool autumn evenings on the open plains of Rohan. The old men in the city had made their predictions for the winter season. Some based it on the year’s crops or certain types and amounts of insects that had been seen about the area. Others based their findings on the aches and pains of their joints. Whatever they used to determine the coming season, they all seemed to agree upon to the same conclusion. This year would be unseasonably cold, even for this part of the world.

Legolas was hardly fazed by the temperature difference, having a high tolerance for extreme highs and lows. Still, an unusually cold winter would mean less activity at the borders, and more time to spend with friends. The orcs did not fare well in the cold, so it was expected that there would be little trouble, at least for a few months. Théodred and Eomer would be back in the city for longer amounts of time. It would be good to stir up some trouble once again.

Lúta’s job would become more demanding, however. The horses would need extra attention, especially during those freezing nights when the wind howled through the wooden walls of Edoras’ stables. Lúta worried that she would not see Legolas as much as she would like, but he reassured her that he would meet her as often as he could spare. Unfortunately, it also meant a constant flow of people in the stable and no private time, but they would just have to make do under the circumstances.

To anyone with a keen eye, it was not hard to figure out that Legolas and Lúta were more than friends. For the past two years, they tried to keep their relationship a secret, but there was no mistaking the stolen glances, blushing smiles or brush of a hand as they worked together training Arod. Most people ignored them and kept to themselves, or smiled at the thought of young love. There was one person, however, who watched and observed.

* * *

Grima was becoming increasingly unlikeable to the residents of Edoras. He spent most of his time locked away in Meduseld, hovering about King Théoden and giving him advice. Those who noticed his odd behavior gave him a nickname. Wormtongue they called him, for he seemed to slither through the darkened halls. No one took counsel with Théoden without Grima being present. Grima’s influence was becoming more prominent, but on the rare occasion that he and Théoden disagreed, Wormtongue always backed down first. It was a slow process, ruining the King of Rohan, but the reward would be well worth all the trouble. He was promised a jewel so precious, that he thought it was worth more than all the mithril hidden beneath the ground.

She was such a lonely and sad child when she first came to Rohan, orphaned along with her brother. Now she was transforming into a young woman, and Grima could not help but notice her beauty and strength. Saruman had promised Wormtongue anything he desired in exchange for loyalty, and there was only one thing Grima longed for … Eowyn.

The White Wizard played on Grima’s infatuation with Eowyn, filling his head with promises of what an allegiance to the White Hand of Isengard could bring him. This became Grima’s only reward, the only thing he wanted most, and with the destruction of Théoden and Rohan, Eowyn would be his.

There were a few barriers to cross before he could accomplish his goal, and one was the elf. Grima did not trust him or any elf for that matter. Saruman had filled the man’s head with lies about elves and the manipulative magic that they performed. When Grima had returned to the city and informed Saruman about Théoden’s recent decision to adopt Legolas, the White Wizard convinced Wormtongue that the elf would learn of their deceit, and that he must get rid of Legolas in any way possible. When Saruman learned that Legolas was an elf of Mirkwood, he became unreasonable, and told Grima to dispose of him quickly. Grima listened as the wizard mumbled something about all of the wood elves being destroyed, but they hadn’t all been destroyed. There was at least one left, and one was too many.

Grima made the argument that he couldn’t just kill Legolas, and that the King was very protective of the elf, as if he were his own flesh and blood. Saruman told Wormtongue to start with the King. The only way to dispose of the elf was to convince Théoden that Legolas was a danger to Rohan. So far, Grima hadn’t been able to do that.

Grima had discussed Legolas a few times with Théoden, but even under the influence of the poison, the King would not tolerate any misjudgment of the fair-skinned elf. There had to be another way to convince Théoden that Legolas was a danger. Could he ruin his reputation, make the elf untrustworthy? It would be a long and difficult process, not unlike what he was doing to Théoden, but with perseverance, it could be done. 

Grima watched Legolas from the shadows, learning his routines, and examining the company he kept. That’s when he discovered the secret romance between the elf and the stable girl, Lúta. Grima began to devise a plan that would not only weaken Rohan’s defenses, it would be a distraction for Legolas too, and what better way than to strike at an elf’s heart.

* * *

Grima was close to the stables, watching people come and go. He did not particularly like going there. The horses sensed his evil intent, and they always became rather irritated in his presence. He was nervous around them, especially after almost being trampled by one as a boy. Where the Horse Lords thought of them as an extension of their soul, Grima found them to be conniving beasts, always staring at him with their large peering eyes. He simply did not trust them, and neither did the horses trust him.

As he set to eavesdropping, he noticed Legolas and Lúta exit the stable doors, and walk around to the back. When they thought no one was looking, they kissed, hands roaming over each other with greed. It came to an abrupt end when someone from inside called for Lúta’s assistance. One more passionate kiss, one more forbidden touch, and the couple separated. Grima rubbed his eyes, pushing hard enough until everything turned black and tiny stars popped in the darkness. He hoped it would be enough to cleanse his mind of the exchange he just witnessed.

“Filthy elves think they can just seduce our women,” he muttered to himself. He suddenly thought of Eowyn. She was the same age as Legolas. What if the elf decided that Lúta was not enough to satisfy him? Eowyn lived under the same roof. How easy it would be for them to—

Grima wiped the idea from his mind. No¬¬, she was very protective of her innocence. She would not give that away so easily, not even to the elf, he hoped.

It was the end of the workday, and most of the stable hands had gone home. Lúta was always the last to leave, and today was no different.

Grima waited until Legolas disappeared up the path leading to the Golden Hall, and then he carefully made his way into the stables. His long thin fingers reached for the door, slowly opening it as he slunk inside. Right away, the horse closest to the front began to whicker and stomp its front hooves in the clean hay. Grima looked like a symbol of death as he made the long walk through the building. His black tattered robes looked like raven feather trailing behind in his wake. Every stall he walked past initiated the horse inside to complain nervously. Grima, though he hid it well, felt just as nervous, thinking that any moment some large stallion would break free of its hold and come charging at him. He continued walking until he found Lúta in the very back, checking on the last of the horses before she went home for the evening.

Lúta was busy shaking out blankets and seeing that all the horse equipment was put in its proper place, when she had an overwhelming sense of a cold fog spreading across the floor. Gooseflesh broke out over her body, making the hair on her neck stand up.

“Good eve, my lady,” Grima drawled, his words spoken slowly.

Lúta jumped, spooked by the sudden awareness of Grima Wormtongue standing only a few feet from her. She gasped and dropped the headpiece in her hands, the metal bit making a clunk on the wood floor where the hay was thinly strewn about. The horse snorted feeling uneasy with Grima so close. Lúta observed the equestrian’s behavior, and decided it was best to stay close to the mare. Grima did not come into the stall, deciding to keep plenty of room between him and the horse. Besides, he only wanted to speak with Lúta, and this did not require him to be close to her to do so.

“Grima, it is a surprise to see you here. Is there something you need?” she asked with caution.

“Actually, I am here on behalf of King Théoden. He asked that I come in his stead, and make a report on the wellbeing of the young horses.” He attempted a smile, but he looked more like a Barrow-wight come to haggle for her soul.

“At this hour?” she asked nervously.

Grima never dropped his gaze from her, nor did his sickening smile falter, “He had a busy day, and he is rather worn.”

Slightly confused and overly suspicious, Lúta answered, “Oh . . . well alright then. All of the foals are in good health. We are seeing to it that the stables will be well prepared for the upcoming winter. Are there any particular horses he inquires about?”

Grima was unclear as to how such an inspection was performed, “Actually, he did not say. I suppose he wants to know the well-being of them all.” 

Lúta forced a smile, and reluctantly left the safety of the horse as she exited the stall. Grima’s black robes brushed against her arm as she edged past him. The material seemed to cling to her skin, and she had the sensation that if she touched it too long it might adhere to her like oil. The feeling made her rub her arm where the material made contact, and she checked to see that nothing was left behind.

Lúta led him half way through the stable and stopped at the first foal’s stall, “This is Turca, Fram’s young horse.” She opened the top half of the stall door, and allowed Grima to look in. Oddly, the man did not go too close to the door, and peered in from where he stood.

“Ah yes, very clean and he looks fit,” Grima replied, making his observations.

“Do you not want to do a more thorough examination?” she asked as a challenge.

“No, I will take your word for it. If you say he’s in good condition then he must be.” Grima looked past her to the stall across the way. He pointed, his long thin ivory finger easing out of his sleeve, “Is that Legolas’ horse?”

Lúta’s brow crinkled, “Yes, his colt is housed in that stall.” She put emphasis on the corrected word for the young dapple-grey male. Why was Grima here, she wondered. He had not a clue about horses.

Grima smiled again, making Lúta feel very uneasy in his presence, “I guess there’s no hiding it is there?” He pretended to be embarrassed by his lack of knowledge, “I admit I do not know much about this kind of thing. I tried to explain that to Théoden, but he insisted.” He turned his attention back to Arod, “How long before this one starts its training?”

“Arod is very enthusiastic. He has been training for a while now,” she informed him.

Grima took a step closer to Lúta. “I understand that Legolas and the horse, ah . . . colt have a special bond.”

“Yes, they connected the moment he was born it seems. I have never witnessed anything like it before.” Lúta smiled to herself as she remembered that night.

“And you do not find this a little odd? Do you not feel it is his elvish heritage that seems to hold sway over the creature? He seems to have that effect doesn’t he?”

“I find your line of questioning odd, Grima,” she accused.

Grima got closer still, using his grey eyes to steady her attention, “Come now, Lúta. Everyone knows how the girls attract to him like moths to candlelight, present company included.”

“What business is it of yours?” She wanted to run from him, to fly from the stables, and get as far from him as she could, but something about the rhythm of his voice held her in place, as a veil of doubt fogged her mind.

“It is none of my business, of course, but I cannot help wonder why? You try to keep your secrets, and you may have succeeded as far as your family is concerned, but I have seen the both of you. It is obvious he has you ensnared by his magic.” Grima’s words hung in the air, flowing together like a long hiss.

“There is no magic. I go to him of my own free will.” Why was she discussing this with him? Why couldn’t she escape from his accusations?

“You have not thought things through have you, Lúta? What do you think will come of this? He is an elf. You are a human. He will live forever, his youth and beauty never fading while you will continue to age, grow old and die. Why would he want to endure this kind of punishment?” Grima dropped his gaze for a moment to allow his eyes to roam over her body, “You are so young and supple. I see the attraction, but it will not last. Legolas will tire of you, and find another young body to claim once your youth is spent. Immortality has its advantages. So, if you think he loves you, remember that it is only temporary. He can give you no kind of certainty in your life.”

Lúta had not given it much thought. Legolas was so kind and charming. They had admitted their love for each other, and had been each other’s firsts in many things. She hadn’t considered his immortality or her unchangeable right to death. Why hadn’t she thought of this before?

Grima could see her contemplating and smiled, knowing he was influencing her, “He can promise you the world, Lúta, but it will come with a price. Just look into his eyes, and you will understand what I speak of.”

She had looked into those genuine blue eyes on numerous occasions. They had made her feel trapped, just as she was now, but by love instead of Grima’s doubt. She liked the feeling of being consumed by Legolas’ gaze, where no one else existed but her. How long would it last though? Every year, every hour … every minute she was growing older. Legolas would never change, or it would go unnoticed over the centuries. Maybe Grima was right. This could not last between them. Legolas would eventually move on when her youth was spent.

Why was she entertaining these thoughts, she wondered. If she had questions, she should be discussing them with Legolas, not this slithering worm of a man. Lúta was repulsed, and wanted to tell Grima to leave, but she could not find her voice. Her struggle was short lived, as a giant wave crashed upon her, drowning her in doubt and despair. Had she been fooling herself into thinking that Legolas could give her any kind of a normal future? Or had Legolas been fooling her? Tears came to her eyes as she silently conceded to her faltering thoughts.

Grima felt her despondency and it strengthened him. To know he could bring her under control with only his words, to lock her in his malicious spell, was feeding his newfound power. He grew stronger as she grew weaker, taking him at his word and believing his lies. Saruman was right. There was nothing more satisfying than this need for control. He felt as though he could drain her soul, consume her discouraged heart, and strengthen himself with her convictions until he had gorged himself into a drunken stupor. How far could he take this? He didn’t want it to end. Oh, how tempting this power was, but he had to tread lightly at this early stage in his game. He only wanted to implant doubt into her mind, not scare her away from the elf completely. Slow and steady was the pace he needed to keep, otherwise his plans would be for naught.

Grima reached out and captured the tear that slowly traveled down Lúta’s cheek. His steely grey eyes held hers once more, softening and giving her pity, “Oh, my dear, I did not mean to upset you. I only wanted to protect you, make you see what you have not realized yet. I can see how much you love him, but that is not your fault. Keep wary is all I am saying. The next time you find yourself transfixed by his words, remember what I have told you tonight.” He pulled his hand back and blinked his eyes rapidly, reluctantly breaking the spell. Grima stepped away from her, his knobby hands disappearing into his long black sleeves. 

As Grima receded from her, so did the foggy veil surrounding Lúta’s mind, along with her confusing thoughts. It was as if she had never spoken of such things with Grima. She could not rid herself of a residual feeling of doubt, but the subject of such thoughts had escaped her. She shook her head to clear her mind and was overcome by dizziness. What just happened?

Grima gave her a concerned look, the snake gone, replaced by the usual eccentric advisor, “Are you well? You look a little pale.”

“I . . . I think so.” She looked around the room, confused by the underlying dread in her heart, “What … what were you saying?”

Grima could see she was desperately trying to remember what just took place and quickly worked to repair the situation, “You were telling me about Arod’s training,” he reminded her.

She knitted her brows, touching her fingers to the bridge of her nose. Why did her head hurt suddenly? “Oh yes . . . Arod.” She tried desperately to collect her thoughts.

“Perhaps we should get you home. You seem a little stretched,” he continued with the charade, “I will report my findings to Théoden, and inform him that everything is well and in order. Shall I walk you to your house?”

“I just need a moment,” she said and swayed slightly. She put a hand out, and caught herself with the stable door.

Just as Grima was about to insist he see her home, Lúta’s father entered the stable. Grima recoiled away from her.

Instantly, her father could see she was distressed and went to her, “Lúta, are you alright?” When she didn’t answer, he gave Grima a hardened look, “What has happen to her?”

“I’m a bit baffled myself,” Grima answered mockingly, “We were discussing the well-being and training of the horses, when she became weak-kneed. I was just about to help her home.” Any trace of Grima’s dark magic disappeared and turned to concern.

“Lúta?” her father started to ask, his suspicions falling away for a moment.

“I will be fine. I think … it’s just been a long day. I’m tired is all,” she answered.

“Let’s get you home then,” her father said, wrapping his cloak around her shoulders. As he led her past Grima, he gave the man accusatory glare, but did not speak a word to the little worm. Grima waited until they were gone, then he too left, satisfied with the beginnings of his plan.

* * *

A few days later, Lúta was walking to the farrier to have shoes made for some of the horses. She had felt rather dazed lately, as she tried to remember what happened to her the night Grima paid her a visit. She remembered their conversation about the horses, and feeling nervous in his presence, but it felt as if a piece of that night went missing from her memory. The sudden fatigue and roaring headache was something she had never experienced before. She had been very busy lately, as winter seemed to be settling in early this year. Maybe that was all it was.

She hadn’t seen Legolas since earlier that same odd day. He was on guard duty, staying at the barracks. She did not see him on the days he was on patrol. He was very dedicated to his work. However, she received an early morning delivery, a note sealed with Legolas’ personal emblem upon it, the outline of a leaf. When she had a quiet moment alone, she snuck away and read it. There was nothing much in the letter. He just stated that his duties were done for a few days, and asked to see her later, when she had finished with her own duties in the stable. He asked to walk her home, his usual reason for sending correspondence. Lúta smiled and felt content while reading, and the eloquent elvish rune signed at the bottom made her heart leap. Not every letter had one, but this one did.

Legolas and Lúta had to keep their relationship as quiet as possible, and so he came up with a sort of code, something that only she would recognize. The rune at the bottom was his way of telling her that she needed to leave the stable early. On these special occasions, she would come up with an excuse, leave before the end of the day, and meet Legolas behind the storerooms at the south end of the city. From there, they would disappear to their hideaway, a small stand of trees not far from the city, outside of the protective walls.

Théodred had told Legolas about a section of the wall that had been compromised. A few of the wooden posts had rotted near the bottom and pushed aside far enough for someone to squeeze through. There were no guard posts close to the area, and they could sneak out unnoticed. Théodred used to use it when he and his shield maiden lover wanted spend some private time alone together. Being a prince had its downfalls, especially when the townspeople had their eyes trained on him, wondering when he would take someone to be his princess. Eomer was the only other one to know about this secret escape along the wall, though he had less use for it. Legolas and Lúta needed this refuge for their own reasons, mainly secrecy from her family. The trees made a perfect sanctuary for them, and Lúta could not wait. Suddenly her headache subsided, and she began counting the hours until she would see Legolas again. She had missed him more than usual.

* * *

Legolas was sitting on a couch inside the great hall, knees bent and legs crisscrossed. He was reading his book, the one that Elhadron had given to him, and one of the only things he owned that came from his begetting place. It was a book about elves … languages, races, histories. The pages were yellowed and worn on the edges from use. He had read it so many times that he could recite it word for word without needing to open it. Everything he knew about his heritage was in this book. Reading it gave him a sense of belonging, not that he felt a like an outcast amongst the Rohirrim, but they were not his kin.

While he was reading, Eowyn walked into the hall. She saw Legolas sitting in his favorite spot next to the sunken hearth in the middle of Meduseld and smiled. Leaning down, she took off her soft slippers, the cold of the stone floor a shock to her bare feet. She tiptoed towards him, out of his line of sight, and after only a few steps, Legolas smiled as his eyes remained focused on his book.

“Hello Eowyn,” he called and lifted his head, turning to look over his shoulder.

Eowyn sighed and rolled her eyes, tossing her slippers onto the ground and slipping her feet into them. She walked over to the couch and sat next to Legolas, who gave an airy laugh through his nose. “One of these days I am going to catch you off guard,” she complained, “When did you know I was there?”

“I heard you in the hallway,” he smiled, never glancing up from his book.

Eowyn huffed, disappointed that once again she could not sneak up on him. Then she leaned over and looked at the page he was reading. It was filled with runes that she did not understand, but it was beautiful to look at. “Is everything about the elves so elegant?”

Legolas didn’t speak, but shrugged one shoulder as he took the book from his lap and handed it to her. The leather was soft against her fingertips and it smelled like an old musty forest, “It looks very old,” she said.

“It is very old,” he replied, as he watched her carefully turn the page. He laughed at how cautious she was being. “It is alright to touch it.”

“But it looks as if it will fall apart in my hands.” Eowyn turned another page, careful not to tear the edges any more than they already were.

“It was made by the elves, Eowyn, and they only make things that are meant to last through the ages.”

She gave him a peculiar side-glance. “They,” she repeated, “You speak as if the elves were different from you.”

“It feels that way sometimes. I’ve lived amongst humans longer than I have elves. This is why I read all the time, to remind myself that I am just like them.”

“Don’t you wonder, Legolas, about the other elven realms? Don’t you ever want to go there and be with them? I know you are the last of your kind, but they are of the same race as you. It would be as if Eomer and I went to live with the elves after we were orphaned, knowing that there were lands filled with men and women just like us.”

“I do think about it from time to time,” Legolas admitted, “When the Woodsmen brought me to Rohan, we traveled past Lothlorien, across the Anduin. Off in the distance, I saw them, the Noldorin elves. They were magnificent to behold, even from a distance. I’ve never told anyone this, but I longed to go to them, to brave the current of the Great River and see them up close. Then I thought of Elhadron and what he told me about their beliefs, and I know I am not like them. I realized that I felt more connected to the men I traveled with than those elves.”

Eowyn wrapped her arm around his, and laid her head on his shoulder, “I for one am glad you are here with us.” She suddenly sniffed the air, lifted her head and sniffed again, “You have recently bathed ... and you have used Eomer’s special oils,” she accused, “You are going to see Lúta aren’t you?” His ears tinged pink, and he looked away from Eowyn. She shook her head, “You are going to get caught one day, Legolas.” He gave her a mischievous grin and they both started laughing.

Unaware that his laughter faded to silence, Eowyn was still smiling as her giggling slowed. Legolas was distracted, his narrowed eyes perusing the back of the hall where the King’s throne sat. To the left of the dais was a darkened entrance, a hallway that led to Théoden’s private sitting quarters as well as some other vacant rooms. Eowyn’s smile faded quickly as she noticed Legolas’ sudden watchfulness. She turned to see what diverted his attention away from their playful conversation. From the shadows of the dark hallway emerged Grima, his robes chasing after him like a sinister haze folding onto itself. As he passed in front of the dais, he kept his head down, seemingly deep in thought. Then he stopped abruptly and slowly turned his head towards them. Eowyn never liked Grima, but recently she had begun to feel extremely uneasy in his presence, and she remained hidden behind Legolas. She felt his body tense as Legolas and Grima regarded each other at a distance. He must have felt the same disquiet as she did. Eowyn moved slightly so that she could glance at Grima from behind the safety of Legolas’ shoulder. They were staring intently at each other, as if preparing for a duel. Wormtongue’s grey eyes held undeniable malice within them, directed towards the elf.

Grima’s sight shifted, and he became acutely aware of Eowyn’s presence. As quick as blowing out a flame, his countenance changed from animosity to yearning, and she no longer felt safe, not even with Legolas sitting next to her. The elf sensed this sudden deviation in Grima’s mannerisms, and it became clear . . . this man was a threat. He felt Eowyn’s hand fall upon his shoulder and she shivered, but not from the chill in the hall. Legolas stood from the couch and leered at Grima. He could be just as threatening. The man’s eyes darted back to the elf, narrowing instantly. Then he pulled his robes tightly around him and left the hall in a hurry.

The moment had passed, but the residual energy left behind was quite unnerving. Eowyn got up and stood behind Legolas, feeling as if Grima might return, “He is not the same man since he came back to Edoras,” she whispered.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” Legolas answered, still watching the hallway where Grima disappeared.

“I don’t think he likes you either,” Eowyn admitted. “Why, Legolas? No one else treats you in such a manner.”

“It is a mystery to me too. I’ve never even spoken to the man, but when he regards me I feel his wrath and hatred.” Legolas turned to Eowyn. She looked shaken. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I think so, but I agree with you. I don’t trust him. This is not the first time I have caught him ogling me.”

“Does Eomer or Théodred know about this?”

Eowyn shook her head, “I have never told anyone about these exchanges. I wanted to, but my nerves stifle me, and I’m afraid no one will believe me. Besides, Grima has never advanced upon me. A man cannot be persecuted for looking at someone. Unless he physically threatens me, there is nothing to prove.” She wrapped her arm around his, “I am glad you were here to sense this. Now I know it is not just an overactive imagination.”

“You should not be alone when he is here. Come on, let’s go for a walk.” Legolas tucked his book under his arm, and started to lead her from the hall.

Eowyn stopped him, “What about Lúta? Isn’t she waiting for you?”

Legolas smiled warmly, “I have some time before I am to meet her.” He pushed a lock of her hair from her face, “The sunshine and open air will do us both some good right about now.”


	16. Changes Taking Place

After the exchange with Grima in Meduseld, Legolas and Eowyn walked casually through the city, talking about anything that happened to come up. The pair of friends rounded a corner, and Legolas spotted Eomer. The elf hadn’t realized his friend was home from the borders. Eomer was still dressed in uniform, walking arm in arm with—

Legolas tensed when he saw that Eomer was with the shield maiden he had been trying to woo for some time now … and who happened to be Eowyn’s best friend. It had been established between brother and sister that her friends were strictly off limits as a love interest. Now, it seemed that Eomer was breaking the rules.

Eowyn was in mid-sentence when Legolas pulled on her arm, quickly changing directions, “Legolas, what—” Eowyn laughed at his abrupt behavior, and looked at him strangely, “Where are we going?”

“Oh, well we have walked that way so many times,” he said, coming up with any excuse to keep her from seeing Eomer, “I thought perhaps we would go a different direction.”

Eowyn knew instantly, from Legolas’ peculiar behavior, that something was amiss, but she went along with his story. What had he seen to make him behave so awkwardly? She patted his arm and they smiled at each other. Legolas felt sure that she hadn’t seen her brother and relaxed, but Eowyn took the opportunity to glance over her shoulder. She knew that golden sun-bleached head anywhere … Eomer. 

So, this explained Legolas’ sudden anxiety. She should have known Eomer might get his friends involved in his secrets, especially in keeping it secret from her. Eowyn knew of her brother’s feelings towards her friend. It wasn’t that she Eomer was unworthy, or vice versa, but Alfía was her friend, her very best friend, and she plainly didn’t want to share. Eowyn had known Alfía since her and her brother first came to live with their uncle. The two girls connected right away. They shared all kinds of secrets between each other … but now—

Eowyn’s eyes shifted from Eomer to Alfía, her friend looking completely smitten. Eowyn seethed silently. This was nothing new it seemed, only new to Eowyn. Her gaze drifted downward to her shoulder and back to Legolas. She said nothing, and allowed him to lead her away from the couple. Poor Legolas, thinking he had diverted the situation in his favor, and that all was well. Eowyn could keep silent for now, use her knowledge make the elf sweat a bit before she revealed her findings. She did enjoy making the boys squirm when she knew something they did not, but she had not the patience for games today. Finally, unable to hold her tongue a moment longer, she spoke.

“So, how long have you known about my brother and Alfía,” she said calmly.

Legolas laughed nervously, “Alfía … and Eomer? Why, whatever gave you that . . . Ow!” He was interrupted by a severe knuckle punch in his upper arm.

Eowyn unwrapped her arm from around his, and stood face to face with Legolas, “Don’t lie to me, elf!” She only ever called him that when she was upset with him, “How long has this been going on?”

“I don’t know what you’re—” Again he was interrupted, but this time, he dodged from the path of her fist, and she stumbled slightly. It might have been a funny scene to watch, but for the fact that Legolas was the intended victim of the fist. Deciding it was best not to irritate her any further, he answered, “A while now.” 

His short answer seemed to confirm her suspicions. Eowyn stepped back and turned towards the direction she had seen Eomer and her best friend, but they had slipped away, “I knew there was someone. Alfía has been acting rather unlike herself for a while,” she said aloud to no one in particular. “She would not say who she secretly admired. I could have sworn it was Théo or at least she led me to believe it was him.”

Seeing her deep in a conversation with herself, Legolas looked up and away, searching for an escape. Eowyn noticed his nervous behavior, and her eyes tapered into slits as she regarded him once more. Elf or no, she knew that conscience-stricken look. He knew more than he was leading on, “Tell me everything.”

Legolas swallowed hard. Suddenly, having a standoff with Wormtongue didn’t seem so bad compared to facing the wrath of a shield maiden. Thank the Valar Lúta worked in the stables, he thought.

“Eomer and Théodred devised this plan to let you believe Alfía pined for Théo. They knew you wouldn’t be upset since he is already courting someone.”

“And in the meantime, Alfía is sneaking around with my brother?” She glared at Legolas and he nodded slowly. Eowyn shook her head, arms flailing in the air, “Why am I always the last to know?”

“Because you behave like this,” he answered, regretting it instantly, “Ow!” That comment assured him another punch in the arm. Since when did Eowyn move so quickly? “I don’t think I like being your practice dummy,” he complained.

He listened to her rant about Eomer being too immature for Alfía, about how this could ruin their friendship, and how she might never be able to look her friend in the eye again. Legolas remained silent and did not interrupt, afraid he would receive a third bruise. Eventually, Eowyn would run out of insults or she would need to stop and catch her breath. Then he would take his chances on escape, but as luck would have it, he didn’t have to wait long.

“Legolas,” someone called, and he spun around to find Lúta approaching them. He had never been so glad to see her.

Eowyn stopped mid-sentence and smiled, her ill temper suddenly vanished, replaced with cheer. She was quite a mercurial young woman, he thought and burned it to memory. From now on, Eomer was on his own. Legolas would not come between the personal disagreements of brother and sister again.

“Oh no, I have kept you too long. I forgot that you were meeting Lúta. I had better let you go,” Eowyn said. She smiled and greeted Lúta with a hug. Then she turned back to Legolas, all involvement in Eomer’s deception forgotten, for the time being. She grasped his hand and squeezed, “Thank you for what you did back there … in the hall,” she said, referring to the brief mishap with Grima and the awful man’s wandering eye.

Legolas bent down and kissed her forehead, “Just be wary of him, alright? I’ll discuss this with Eomer and Théodred later. And please . . .” he stopped and smiled, “Don’t kill your brother. We need him.”

“Can I just maim him?” she teased.

Legolas shook his head and Eowyn laughed, “Go on then, and I promise to be careful. You two enjoy yourselves.”

Legolas smiled at Eowyn, and then his eyes darted to Lúta, “Oh, we most certainly will,” he answered, their eyes catching.

Eowyn blushed and looked away, feeling like an intruder. She couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of envy. One day she hoped to find someone as true of heart as Legolas. She interrupted their moment in order to slip away from the infatuated couple, “I will see you later, Legolas. Nice to see you again, Lúta.”

Legolas watched Eowyn walk away, feeling a little anxious about letting her go after learning about Grima’s watchfulness, but his fear for her was replaced with fear for Eomer when he saw Eowyn change directions, following the same path in which she saw her brother go, “And no maiming either,” he shouted after her, but she pretended not to hear.

Lúta looked at Legolas curiously, “What was that about?”

“Oh nothing, except that Eowyn has just learned about Eomer and Alfía.”

“You didn’t tell her did you?” Lúta asked. She had obviously known about the secret too, after overhearing Eomer and Legolas speaking one day. Eowyn would be furious to know how many people actually knew about her brother. Secrets were never kept for very long in a small city such as Edoras. Lúta frowned at that thought. How many people knew about her and Legolas?

He shook his head, “She spotted them walking together a moment ago … but enough about them.” Legolas spun her around, capturing her by the waist. His smile was infectious, and his eyes blazed a brilliant blue as he gave her his full attention, “I have missed you so much, and I can hardly wait to get you alone in the woods. It has been far too long since we have spent any time together, just the two of us.”

Lúta slid his hands from her body and straightened her dress, “You know the rules, not while we’re in the city.”

He offered her his arm as was proper. She accepted, and they slowly took the path south, heading for the secret breach in the wall. 

* * *

Legolas slid from Lúta’s body and came to rest at her side, pulling her close. They snuggled beneath the thick blankets spread upon the wooden platform hidden high up in the tree, reveling in the afterglow of their … secret time. This small wood was their safe hideaway where they could be together without fear of discovery. It was only a small patch of trees, and not far from the protective wall that surrounded Edoras, but it gave enough privacy to its visitors. Someone had built a flet within the thick canopy of the largest tree, and those who knew of it seemed to keep up its maintenance. New wooden planks were nailed over older ones that were weathered and worn.

Legolas nuzzled his nose into her soft red hair, smiling and completely sated, “We have taught each other much since we first did this,” he whispered.

Lúta pushed her back against his chest, “I could stay like this forever, in your arms.” She shifted and turned onto her back, her hand reaching into his hair, “But we better get dressed and get back before I am missed.”

Legolas frowned. “And what if we never went back, what then?”

“For one, my father would have your hide,” she teased, but his face became intent reflecting his thoughts.

“Lúta, you know how I feel about you, about us. We cannot keep this relationship cloaked much longer.”

“He would never agree, Legolas, and you know this,” she said speaking of her father, “And then I could never have you. We could never have this.”

“I want you Lúta, but I want more than this.”

“Do we have to talk about this now? It has been such a beautiful day. Let’s not ruin it.” She caressed the pointed tip of his ear.

Legolas rolled from his side to his back, away from her touch. Lúta felt his reserve and turned to face him. Suddenly, thoughts of a future with him filled her head, but they were laced with doubts and fears, and a sense of forlorn. A familiar ache touched her heart, “Have you ever really thought about us, Legolas? Have you given any consideration to our differences?”

Legolas hoped she was speaking of their likes and dislikes, but he knew what this was really about, “Lúta, I am the last of my kind living amongst humans. What am I supposed to do, never look for comfort amongst them, never feel love for them? I am an elf, but I have many of the same needs and I need you. I want to be with you, and I want you to feel secure about us.”

She wanted that too, and always had until just now. Some deep dark thought festered at the back of her mind. Had it always been there? And why now, when they were finally discussing their relationship, did it decide to wriggle its way forth like an insect clawing through mud, and trying to find the open air. She forced it back, burying it where she did not have to consider what it meant to love him, but the voice sputtered and hissed its way to the surface.

“He can never truly love you. He will remain eternally beautiful while you wither and die. What kind of life is that? He will not want you for long,” it chastised, destroying her hope with its poisonous words.

This was too much to contemplate all at once, and she shoved the familiar conflict back into her subconscious, “Right now in this moment I feel secure. As long as it is just us, I know it is safe. I’m afraid that when too many others know, they will try to tear us apart.”

Legolas gazed up into her eyes with an intensely cold stare, “Do you not have faith in us? Do you doubt our love could not withstand whatever challenge they throw at us? If that is how you truly feel then maybe we should not—”

Lúta could not stand to hear him finish that sentence, and threw herself onto him, kissing him as if to swallow his words. She felt him resist at first, but her consistency won, delaying the first argument they were on the verge of having. Legolas flipped her onto her back, rolling with her. Then he released her lips and gazed at her hungrily with his intensely blue eyes. A sly smile spread across his mouth as he spoke, “Do not think you have diverted my attention away from this. I know what you are doing.” He laughed from deep within his throat, “And it seems to have worked … for now. I am not through discussing this, but right now I want you.”

“But it is getting late,” she said, mocking protested as he writhed against her center.

“You will come up with an excuse. You always do. And someday soon, you will not need these lies anymore, but let’s not worry about that any longer.”

“You know I can never resist you, Legolas,” she panted. Once more, they joined beneath the thick blankets, tucked safely away from the rest of the world, lost to carnal desire, and doubts abolished for a little longer.

* * *

Winter charged in like a heard of oliphants, and the Rohirrim braced themselves for one of the harshest seasons witnessed since the Long Winter some two hundred and fifty years ago. The bulk of the armies were called back home leaving only the watchtowers manned. It was unlikely that there would be any activity, especially the threat of orcs, in weather like this. Winter seemed to neutralize both friend and foe, as survival against the elements became more important than fighting against each other.

It was for this reason that Théodred was home spending time with his father. He was also seeing the changes to Théoden’s behavior, very discreet and almost unnoticeable. No one knew the king better than his only son, and something was definitely awry. His main concern was Théoden’s orders to send a small amount of weapons to Helm’s Deep. It was not a significant amount, but it was an odd request.

There was a small community of Rohirrim who lived in this great fortress, and helped to keep the Hornburg from being reclaimed by nature. Should the threat of war or weather ever be a factor, the people of Edoras could take up residence there until it was safe to return home. Théodred wondered why his father hadn’t ordered them to go there before winter set in. Edoras and Meduseld were wondrous to look upon, but it did not hold much protection from extreme elements. High up on a hill in the open plains, it was often whipped by strong winds from summer storms or in this case, winter blizzards. The harsh winds crept into every crack and crevice and the cold was almost impossible to keep out. This meant the fires would need to be constantly lit resulting in the threat of a wood shortage. Some families decided to huddle together and share their stored winter goods. Others took their chances on their own. Luckily, the farmers made their predictions early, and the people heeded their warnings, preparing and gathering as much as they had space for. But the people of Rohan were tough and determined. It would take far more than a grueling wintertide to dampen their drive. They would survive.

* * *

Théodred met with Legolas and Eomer to discuss the latest news. They sat at one of the tables in Meduseld, one closest to the fire, warming up and enjoying a mug of ale.

“Actually, I am glad to be home for a while. It seems like ages since I have been here, yet so much has changed,” Théodred mentioned, “My father does not seem quite himself. He looks a bit pallid. I have seen him sick before, but this is different. Perhaps he has spread himself too thin with the winter preparations.”

Legolas shook his head, “It started before that. You and Eomer have not been here because of your duties, but I have watched him deteriorate. It is so slight though. No one but those closest to him would notice. I sense this change in him. He does not speak as openly as he used to, as if he has secrets to keep. Théoden has ever been open and honest with me, but now I almost feel as if he distrusts me, though that is a rather crude word. He just seems veiled at times, as though his thoughts are not his own.”

The three friends sat in silence while they contemplated this. No one wanted to say it outright, but all three of their minds turned to Grima. It wasn’t a subject any of them wanted to discuss at the moment, but it needed to be addressed soon. Instead, Legolas inquired about word on the open plains of Rohan. Unfortunately, it was not much better a subject to talk about, but just as necessary.

“Well, there is the talk of war,” Eomer answered, “but there always is. The latest are rumors that Dol Guldur still breeds evil within its decrepit towers. I have heard from travelers that the Rhovanion is still overrun with fell creatures, building armies to great capacity. No one governs the forests anymore and they breed like conies. Why would they do this unless they had plans to attack?” As Eomer spoke of Rhovanion, he watched sadness fill Legolas’ eyes, “I am sorry. I meant no disrespect to your home, my friend.”

“It is alright, Eomer,” Legolas patted his shoulder, “There is not much that I remember of it, only bits and pieces, and I can only imagine what has become of that place. Still, it’s where I was born, and it feels as if a hot iron pierces my heart when I think about it. But there is nothing I can do … not now anyways?”

Théodred nodded as he regarded Legolas, “I promise you that one day we will go there together with a whole army of Rohirrim, and we will fight side by side until the forest is cleansed of filth.”

“All three of us,” Eomer added, joining the others.

Legolas nodded in answer, and put his hand over his heart, but his head remained bowed as he looked into his mug. The look on his face had changed from gratitude to worry, as his brows creased. 

Théodred couldn’t help but notice the shift in the air surrounding them, “What is it, Legolas?”

“I didn’t want to bring this up just yet, but I feel I cannot contain it any longer. You know as well as I that Grima is responsible for the tension felt within Meduseld,” he paused and turned to Eomer, “But it extends further than with the King. It’s about Eowyn. She has had some encounters … with Grima.”

Eomer’s face hardened, “What do you mean, Legolas. What has that worm done?”

“Nothing … yet, but he watches her, and makes her feel uncomfortable in his presence. I have witnessed it, and I can tell you that there is some wicked scheme working behind his weak façade. I know not what he’s up to, but I’m keeping a wary eye on him. She should not be left alone with him.”

“If he even so much as touches a hair on my sister’s head, I will strike him down,” Eomer growled, “I have never trusted him, and since he came back to Rohan, I distrust him even more.”

“Does my father know about this?” Théodred asked.

“No, and I’m not certain why I feel this way, but I don’t think it will do any good. Théoden heeds his advice, considers Grima’s words before anyone else’s,” answered Legolas, and his voice was laced with sadness, but Théodred was angered.

“He would listen to family before Wormtongue. I will talk to my father, warn him about this, and make him see that something is not right here. If Grima thinks he can influence my father with his poisoned words, then he is a fool. No one takes advantage of my family or my country, especially in my absence, and it is my duty to protect them.”

Legolas watched Théodred as he spoke, and something dawned on him. He had never seen Théodred like this before, taking control and owning to his royal namesake. It was the first insight to the man that the prince had become. Perhaps Legolas had never seen Théodred react so protectively towards anyone, but watching him now, the elf saw his love and concern for his family, as well as his people.

Suddenly, Legolas was aware that he too was a part of this family. Théoden took him in when he did not have to. He gave him proper training, and showed him how to live like the Rohirrim. And in some small way that only Théoden could express, he gave Legolas part of his love, and thought of him as one of his own. He was proud of the young elf’s accomplishments and rewarded him. A very deep trust came with that reward, and Legolas knew King Théoden did not react this way to just anyone. Legolas was a stranger when he came to Rohan, during a time when trust between different people and different races was running thin. Still, Théoden brought Legolas into his family, into his home, and gave him all the same opportunities as any young Rohirrim. That was something Legolas would never forget, and he was proud to serve Rohan.

Surprisingly, with the word trust flittering through his mind, his thoughts switched to Lúta. He loved her, and knew that she loved him. That was not where the problem lie, but it was the fact that she did not trust him to settle things with her family. Lúta’s father was determined to see that she married into a family that complimented his own needs and those of his business. But if Legolas could just speak with him, maybe he could make her father see that she would be well taken care of. If Théoden, King of Rohan had this kind of confidence in Legolas, surely Lúta’s father would give his daughter’s future a more thorough examination. Legolas thought he deserved this chance.

He had a lot on his mind, his concern for Eowyn’s safety and Théoden’s well-being, for Lúta’s trust and the respect of her family. He had lost track of the conversation between Théodred and Eomer, when suddenly he felt a nudging to his arm. He looked at Eomer, who sat beside him.

“Oh, there you are,” Eomer jested, “Were you having one of those elvish reveries or something of the nature?”

“No, I was just … I was thinking about things. The days are moving quickly. Eomer talks of war. Théodred is ready to take over for his ailing father. Yet there is stability in your lives. I think it is my turn to find my own constancy. I may be an elf, but Rohan is my home. I would fight to the death to protect its people, its King, or my friends … and that goes for those that I love. I should not be looked at as an anomaly, but as a member of this great land.”

Théodred and Eomer sat back at observed Legolas with astonished looks, as their elf friend declared to take a stance, “What are you talking about, Legolas?” Eomer asked.

Legolas stood from the table and said proudly, “I am going to insist that Lúta allow me to speak to her family, to properly ask permission to court her.”

His friends looked at him with their mouths hanging open, but Legolas ignored them, “It is time that I was accepted as a candidate for her hand. I may not have a family or own any land, but I am a member of the King’s family, if only adopted, and that should stand for something.”

Théodred was shocked to hear Legolas speak so passionately, “Well, I’ll be damned, Legolas, what has come over you?”

“I think that by hiding, it may end up damaging what Lúta and I have built. She worries about what her father will say, but I worry more about what she will think of me if I do not stand up to him,” Legolas stated, “I love her, and I think she loves me. It’s time that her family knew the truth, is all.”

Unexpectedly, Eomer shot up out of his seat, puffed his chest out and announced, “I am going to tell Eowyn that I have been courting her best friend. We are in love too. These things can’t be helped.”

Legolas turned to face Eomer, his fair complexion suddenly turning pink, “She has not spoken to you?”

“Who, my sister? Why?” Eomer said, and felt his mouth begin to dry.

Legolas grasped Eomer’s shoulder, “She knows.”

“You didn’t tell her did you?”

“She caught a glimpse of you and Alfía strolling arm in arm—”

“Shit!” Théodred said from behind his hand covering his mouth.

The three friends were silent for a while, each one drowned in their own thoughts. Then Eomer sighed deeply, “It can’t be helped, can it? So be it then. From now on, I’ll not have my sister dictating who I may or may not court. I love Alfía, and that’s all there is to it,” he said determinedly.

Eomer picked up his mug, and raised it into the air. He waited until Legolas and Théodred did the same, “For love!” Eomer proclaimed with absolute certainty sparking in his eyes.

Legolas’ countenance matched that of his friend, “For love!” he boasted in response.

Théodred lowered his mug back to his chest, shaking his head slowly back and forth. He regarded his friends as though they had both lost their minds, “You are both cracked, you know that? Eomer’s sister will have his head stuffed and mounted on a wall, and Lúta’s father will have Legolas’ ballocks displayed over the family hearth as a reminder to those that follow in the elf’s footsteps not to cross paths with an overbearing father.”

Eomer and Legolas shot Théodred a deathly glare, and Eomer spoke, “We are men of Rohan. We do not hide from anyone.”

Legolas felt a slight pang in his chest as Eomer referred to them both as men of Rohan, and he backed up his friend, “Our hearts have spoken, now let our voices announce our proclamation.”

Théodred raised an eyebrow in challenge, “And just when do the two of you propose to make said announcement?”

Eomer and Legolas turned their heads to look at each other. Clearly, they hadn’t thought it through so thoroughly. Legolas did not falter, and answered for the both of them, “We will do it just as soon as we find our women, and tell them this is how it must be.”

“Right!” Eomer agreed heartily, then he leaned towards Legolas’ shoulder, “But Eowyn already knows.”

“But you have not confronted her about it,” Legolas answered quickly.

Théodred sat forward, his elbows resting on the table in front of him, “Looks like one of you will get to do it now,” he said, looking past his two friends towards the main entrance.

Eomer’s face flushed to the same fair natural shade of Legolas, “What?” they muttered simultaneously.

“One of you has a visitor,” Théodred smiled slyly, as he gestured to the door.

Legolas and Eomer slowly looked over their shoulders to see which woman they had conjured up by their valiant speech.

“Legolas?” Lúta called lightly, afraid she was interrupting something.

Eomer released the breath he was holding and whispered, “Oh, thank Béma it wasn’t Eowyn.”

Legolas hadn’t heard Eomer’s mumblings, as his emotions curled tightly around his chest, surrounding his heart. Seeing Lúta suddenly calling out for him, he walked towards her with a determined stride, and captured her in his arms, “Lúta, I am so glad you are here.”

Taken by surprise, Lúta pushed back so she could look at him. She had never seen him so driven, yet there was an air of vulnerability about him and she wondered why, “Are you alright? Has something happened?”

Legolas cupped her face in his hands and caught her with his intense stare. “My love for you, that’s what has happened. I will not conceal it any longer.” He kissed her slowly, gently upon her lips.

When she caught her breath, she regarded him again. He was behaving strangely, “What is it, Legolas?”

“I have given this much thought, and I demand we speak with your father. Lúta, I want to be able to court you openly, and I can’t do that as long as we hide from your family. It is not fair to us, and it is not fair to them. I believe that once I speak with him, he will decide he needs not look any further a suitable match for you.” Legolas waited for her reaction, “What have you to say?” Laughter, anger, even an argument would have been better than the look she now gave him. Her freshly kissed lips turned to a frown as her eyes lowered to the floor, and her shoulders slumped dejectedly, “Lúta?” he asked worriedly.

“Legolas, we need to talk.”

“Has he found out about us … because if he has, then let me speak to him. It is my right to ask to properly court you and—”

Lúta touched his lips with nimble fingers, stopping him from saying anything more. A tear traced down her cheek as she tried to find the words, but there was no easy way to say it, “Legolas, my father is being sent to Helm’s Deep, he and many of the city’s blacksmiths.” She forced herself to look him in his eyes, “and our family will go with him. I’m leaving, Legolas. I’m sorry, but I must.”


	17. Gone

Legolas gazed at Lúta, the words still not registering, “What do you mean your father is taking you to Helm’s Deep? Why and for how long?” His voice carried through the hall where Théodred and Eomer sat watching the exchange.

“Legolas,” she said quietly, and he felt his heart drop, “We are going there … to live there … indefinitely.”

“But you can’t. I don’t understand.” His voice was full of desperation, “Is it us? Has he found out?”

Lúta shook her head, “No, it is by order of King Théoden.”

Théodred and Eomer had been eavesdropping, and the sound of the King’s name drew them to their feet. They approached.

“What order has my father issued?” Théodred asked curiously.

Lúta first took Legolas’ hand before she answered, “He is sending all but a few of Edoras’ blacksmiths to the Keep. I’m not sure why except that he says this is where they are needed right now.”

“The Keep?” Eomer asked aloud as he tried to understand why, “Perhaps he has received word of trouble coming to Rohan, the enemy.”

“But why send only blacksmith’s?” Théodred contemplated, “Edoras may be safe now, but without our weapon makers, we would be vulnerable. I will speak with him, and find out what is happening.”

“I will come with you,” Eomer announced as he followed his cousin, but he hesitated and turned to Legolas, “Are you coming?” It was not so much a question, but more of a statement.

Legolas stilled and looked at Lúta, her eyes reddened from her tears. Without turning to Eomer, he answered, “I’ll be along in a moment.”

Lúta broke away from his stare, and watched as Théodred and Eomer walked past the dais where Théoden’s throne sat, and disappeared into the dark hallway. Legolas touched her chin with the tips of his fingers, and had her attention once more, “So you are leaving?”

“I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Lúta. You can stay here, and continue working in the stables … live in your parent’s house. You are not a child anymore.”

“What do you expect me to do, go against my father? He is only doing what the King orders.” She seemed a bit perturbed by his statement.

“Your father has been summoned, not you. I want you to stay. Doesn’t that have any meaning?” The anguish in his voice brought a new set of tears to her eyes.

“Please don’t do this. I don’t want to leave … but I have to go with my family.”

“I am prepared to fight for you … for us. Will you not fight to stay?” His voice trailed off.

Legolas lifted his head capturing her with his steady blue eyes, “Stay, Lúta … please. I love you and I want you with me.”

“I love you too, Legolas … but . . .” Again, she somehow managed to tear her eyes away from his, not at all an easy task. He had always been able to enrapture her with only a look, but ever since that night in the stable, when Grima came to see the horses, Lúta found her mind wandering with doubts about Legolas, the bewitching power over her, his immortality, and his heritage. She could hear that dark voice rising once more, and she silently pleaded for it to stay away. 

“Tell him,” it insisted, “Tell him you cannot be with him. Do not fall prey to his magic again.”

Legolas saw a cold shadow flit across her eyes as she lost herself to her thoughts, “Lúta, what is it? Please tell me.” Now his tone was agitated. Something was wrong, and he braced himself for what she needed to say.

Lúta forced the malicious voice back into the dark places in her mind, and let her gaze fall on him once more, “Things between us moved so quickly, and I think we became lost to our desires and our feelings towards each other. But we have not slowed down to considered what all of this means.”

“It means that I love you, I care about you, and I don’t want you to go,” Legolas insisted, “Why can’t you see that? Why do our conversations always fall to this same discussion? Lúta, I can’t help who or what I am, and I can’t help that my heart beats for you. I am willing to give you all of me if only you will stay and not go to Helm’s Deep.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her to him, burying his face in her hair, “So many have come and gone in my life … not you too.”

Lúta wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight. She hated this just as much as he did. She did not want to leave, but the dark doubts were becoming stronger, especially whenever he was around.

“. . . no future with an elf . . . only heartache. When your youth is spent, he will betray you. It is only elf magic, not love.”

These were the last words she heard every night before giving in to her slumber, and the first words that rambled through her thoughts as she rose to meet the new day. The dark voice was becoming unbearable, and it was affecting her relationship with Legolas as well. Every time he tried to discuss a future with her, she shut him down and changed the subject, or argued with him about something unrelated. She could feel this darkness grabbing at her throat, wanting to force out its unmerciful words, only to hurt Legolas. It just would not leave her alone, and she began to think that the only way to be rid of it was to turn from Legolas. 

Lúta finally released him, no longer able to veil the pain in her eyes, “I can’t even begin to explain the turmoil in my heart. I don’t want to go, Legolas, but I can’t abandon my family either. They need me. My little sister, she looks up to me. How could I tell her that I wouldn’t be there for her anymore?” She paused, deciding she had to be strong, and not let Legolas sway her decision, “My mind is made. I’m leaving with my family. I’m so sorry, Legolas.”

A pain seized Legolas in the chest, as if a blazing hand of fire plunged into his body and seared his heart. If he didn’t get control immediately, he thought he might be consumed by flame. If he let his emotions take over, he would surely die, but he couldn’t do that. Legolas hardened his heart, protecting it from the fire, from his fears … from Lúta, leaving him unfeeling and emotionless. He had done it before, and he could do it again, “And just like that you are prepared to go. You will not even discuss this with me. I have no say in the matter. So all of this has been for naught? I give you my heart and bear you my soul, and you turn from me with nothing more than, ‘I’m sorry’.”

“Do you want to know the truth then?” Lúta responded angrily. The darkness was enjoying this. It was reveling in her pain, wanting to hear her speak the words aloud.

“Go on,” it demanded, “tell him the truth. Tell him now and be done with it!”

Unable to deny the dark any longer, she let it take over and spill its evil intent into the open air, “What kind of future do you think we could have? Can you really commit yourself to a mortal, to live in eternal youth while you watch your loved one slowly die? How could you even consider putting me through that kind of guilt, Legolas? I would grow to resent you, if you did not abandon me first. You don’t belong with us, with mortals. You say I am not a child any more. Well, neither are you. An elf should be amongst his own kind. Maybe it is time for you to go and be with them, not with humans … not with me.”

Legolas stood where he was, and did not move a muscle. Every word Lúta said struck him like a million tiny daggers, but he did not flinch. He just looked at her, his face seemingly carved from stone, unchanging and resistant.

As if lifted from a daze, Lúta realized that the words that tormented her had been spoken. Deep within her mind, there was a deviant laugh. The darkness was satisfied at last.

“Well done. You were such an obedient host. I leave you now. You shall not be bothered by me anymore.”

The shadow vanished, and Lúta was left on her own to comprehend the damage that was done. Instantly, her heart ached. She had never meant to tell Legolas such hurtful things, “Oh … oh, what have I done? I … I did not mean . . .” She reached out to touch him, but he recoiled, as if she was contagious, “My words … I never meant for you to—”

From somewhere outside the great wooden doors, a child’s voice called out Lúta’s name. She turned her ear on instinct, hearing her younger sister searching for her. Lúta’s feet would not leave their place on the floor. She couldn’t leave things this way, “Legolas, please believe me when I say—”

Legolas ignored her and walked to the doors, pushing one of them open. A sunbeam streamed into the dark hall, and Lúta’s eyes tapered to shield them from the blinding sun. Legolas was now just a shadow wreathed in gilded light. She could no longer see his face, but she knew it would be too painful to look at him now. The damage was done. It was over between them.

“Go,” he finally said, “Your family is looking for you. Wouldn’t want them to see you talking to an elf.” His words were cold, bitterly chilled like the first frost of winter, making Lúta shiver.

She walked towards the open door, but stopped in front of him, “Legolas, please forgive—”

“Go!” he shouted, and his voice echoed through the hall of Meduseld.

For the first time, Lúta was truly frightened, and she felt just how powerful and deadly a wood elf could be. She hurried out of the door and down the steps to join her sister and take her home. She did not look back, afraid of what she would see, not the elf who she had loved, but something much more sinister that would haunt her behind closed eyes … something she was responsible for creating.

Legolas let the door slowly close, the darkness of the Golden Hall swallowing him. Théodred and Eomer were gone. He stood unmoving, staring down the length of the hall, but not seeing anything. He was in complete shock. Just like a leaf in a rush of wind, she was gone. She did not argue or fight to stay. He would never have given in so easily. Anger seethed deep in his chest. He was willing to do whatever it took to be with her. He was even willing to stand up to her father and battle for his approval … and she just threw it all away.

Approval … why was he the one always searching for this? He knew the answer of course. No matter what he did or how he behaved, he would never completely fit in. Maybe Lúta was right. He should be with his own kind … but he had no one. His kind was gone. Tears threatened his eyes. No … no, he could not be weak. His hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into his flesh. He needed physical pain to shut out the unbearable agony in his heart. As he started down the dark empty hall, he stopped at one of the wooden tables and slammed the side of his fist down upon the rough wood. The punch jolted his body, a burning ache spreading from his fist, up his arm and shoulder, temporarily replacing the suffering in his mind, but it wasn’t enough. He hammered his fist a second time and a third. The fourth blow proved to be the last as his raw skin began to bleed. Good, he thought to himself. This kind of pain he could control. Satisfied with his injury, he continued on to the hallway at the back of the King’s receiving hall.

He was suddenly overcome with an eerie feeling that he was being watched, but the dark corridor was empty. His senses were not very keen at the moment. Lúta’s recent abandonment was affecting him as well as his throbbing hand, and he wasn’t thinking clearly. Legolas stopped and narrowed his eyes, staring through the dark corridor, but he saw no one. He glanced down at his bloodied hand, pulled it into his sleeve to hide it and entered King Théoden’s private meeting room.

King Théoden silently stood with his back turned to Théodred and Eomer as they spoke in insistent tones. The King’s son was addressing him currently, “But why send them now if there is no direct threat against Rohan? You are leaving Edoras vulnerable.”

Théoden turned to face them, “Edoras is not nor shall it ever be vulnerable. Our armories are fully stocked, but it is Helm’s Deep that has been left defenseless. It is no doubt our stronghold, but without weapons at the ready, the stone and rock of the fortress is not enough to keep an enemy at bay. Besides, I am sending no soldiers, only the blacksmiths.”

Théodred shook his head, “I’m sorry, Father, but I think you have made a poor decision.”

Théoden’s eyes tapered into slits, and the lines on his forehead deepened, “It is not yours to make, now is it?” he spat with a hint of malice that took everyone by surprise. Théoden was always willing to hear what others had to say, especially Théodred. Just as quickly as the words were spoken, his indistinct temper disappeared, and the King returned to himself as he continued, “I never pass down orders without first conferring with my advisors, and after much discussion, I feel this is the correct action I must take.”

Legolas had been watching and listening to their discussion, taking particular interest in Théoden’s sudden and unusual mood change. This was not the way the King behaved, yet he had never witnessed Théoden during times of stress. His unease was suspicious.

“What changed that has made you come to this decision?” Legolas asked. Théodred and Eomer spun around, unaware that the elf had entered the room.

Théoden’s attention switched to Legolas, “As I have said, my advisors and I—”

“Your advisors or Grima,” Legolas interrupted.

Théoden scowled at the elf, but Legolas’ numbness was ensuring his foolish bravery. No one spoke to the King of Rohan in such a manner.

Théoden walked past Théodred and Eomer, stopping in front of Legolas. He cocked his head to the side as he regarded the elf, “Do you have a problem with my chief counselor?”

Legolas pulled his shoulders back, standing tall and looking at Théoden with wide eyes, “I do and I am not the only one. Your people do not trust him, yet you take him at his word.”

Théoden’s creases around his eyes deepened. “This does not concern you, Legolas. You have only lived in Rohan for a short time, while I have known Grima for most of his life.”

“My lack of Rohirric knowledge has been pointed out to me more than I care for lately.” Legolas was willing to endanger his trust with Théoden. Lúta was gone, the King was taking advice from someone he thought was a danger to all of Rohan, and his festering anger was about to explode. He felt he had nothing left to lose, “I do not trust the man, and I sense he is up to no good.”

The King shifted his weight from right to left and crossed his arms over his chest, “What proof do you have that Grima has been anything but honest and trustworthy?” Théoden challenged.

“It may be lack of your better judgment, as you still let him counsel you, that has sparked my suspicions,” Legolas answered with malice.

Théoden brought his face to Legolas’ and eyed him warily, “You dare to speak to me that way?”

“You will not listen otherwise. I am here to tell you that you should not trust Grima.”

Legolas was prepared for whatever punishment King Théoden might hand to him. He knew it was wrong to go against the King, but neither could he stand by and say nothing. He expected to be sent from Meduseld, stripped of his guard duties, flogged even, but instead, Théoden’s demeanor changed, and he took a more relaxed stance.

“Oh, the elves … always worrying about thing that they should not be, overthinking what others consider normal behavior.” He placed his hand on Legolas’ shoulder, “I appreciate your concern … really, I do, but I have made my decision.” He turned to the others, “Now, all of this talk has more than exhausted me, and I must go lie down for a bit. Théodred, will you accompany me. Eomer, you may join us,” Théoden brought his attention to Legolas once more, “I sense something is wrong on a … personal lever, for you have never challenged me in such a manner before. I suggest that you take some time for yourself to gather your thoughts. I will forgive you for your outburst … this time.” With that, Théoden made for his personal quarters with Théodred and Eomer following.

* * *

Grima had been eavesdropping outside of Théoden’s door. He heard the argument with Théodred and Eomer, and there was nothing surprising to him. He knew the King’s son would try to persuade Théoden to retract his orders, but Grima’s spell was wrapping tightly around the King’s mind. The elf though, just as he suspected, the damn elf would be a problem. He needed to get rid of him before he spoiled everything.

Legolas was trying to turn Théoden against him, his biggest worry come true. Still, the King did not budge on his decision and he stood firm. Grima smiled to himself. Not even the magic of the elves could reverse the bewitchment he was weaving upon Théoden. Knowing he had this much power over the King in these early stages of sorcery was intoxicating to someone like Grima, who had always been looked down upon or seen as eccentric and a nonconformist. That would all change when he was finally put in charge of Rohan, if Saruman would give him the responsibility. Then, he would claim Eowyn as his prize. She would have no choice than to marry him. He would be a man of power by then, and all women loved such men.

Grima had been so indulged in his scheming that he had not heard someone approaching the door. He fled soundlessly down the hall and back to the shadows.

* * *

Legolas threw the door open and left Théoden’s room. He was hurt, angry, feeling deceived by those that he trusted and loved. He rushed out of the hallway, and into the openness of the great hall. Even in here, he felt as though the walls were closing in on him. He stopped to collect his thoughts for a moment, when he had a sudden awareness of someone watching him. He had felt it earlier when he first arrived, but when he looked around, he saw nothing. Legolas was in no mood, and if his suspicions were correct, whoever was spying on him was just the person he needed to take his aggravations out on.

He slowed his steps and turned to walk the length of the dais. It was here somewhere, the person who watched from the shadows. Closer and closer, the feeling of utter disgust made his skin crawl. There, just around that wide column . . .

Legolas moved with lightning speed, whirling around the wooden beam. His hands grabbed at the blackness and caught a fist full of fur, feeling slick and greasy in his fingers. What felt like bones grabbed at his arms, skeletal hands grasping his flesh, but Legolas did not let go. With all of his strength, he forced the being back until it slammed into a wall. The black shape fought, but was outweighed by the elf’s ferocity.

A breeze blew in through a window, lifting one edge of a heavy curtain, and allowing in just enough light for Legolas to see what he captured. However, he did not need to see to know it was Grima, the man responsible for the elf’s misery.

Legolas adjusted his grip until he had Grima’s arms pinned to his sides. He could hear the man’s heart racing, and his breath coming in hurried puffs. They’d never come in close contact before, and Legolas thought Grima seemed as if he would faint. Then he realized that the man had no strength, and beneath the heavy black coat, Grima was no more than skin and bones.

“Unhand me this moment!” Grima demanded.

“You’ve been following my steps ever since you came back to Rohan. Well, you have my attention now. What do you want?” Legolas accused.

“I want for you to leave Rohan, but you will not go, will you? You have claimed this place as your own, or so you think, but soon even the King will not want you around anymore,” Grima answered.

“And what makes you say that, Worm? Is it because you are in the King’s ear every minute of the day, feeding him lies? It was not Théoden who gave orders for the blacksmiths departure, but you. Why? Why does he listen to anything you have to say? It is some kind of dark magic. That is what I say, and I’ll find out soon enough, for as you have watched me, now I will watch you, Wormtongue.”

“If there is any magic being conjured around here, it is you who is casting spells,” Grima hissed in Legolas’ face, “Théoden should never have allowed an elf to live in Edoras, let alone under his own roof. Your kind is not to be trusted, always with your ear to the wall, your head in other people’s business and your hands on those who you are forbidden to touch.”

Legolas’ eyes narrowed, and Grima could see that he struck a nerve, “Oh yes, elf … don’t think I have not seen you sneaking around with the blacksmith’s daughter. That is not all you have done with her either, is it? You seduced her didn’t you … took her innocence, and brainwashed her into thinking you were some kind of hero. Elves … you are all the same. You think you are a higher form than humans, that men cannot do for themselves. Well, I say your time here is over. Middle-earth belongs to men now.” Grima knew that he should stop there, but he was drunk on the power of knowing that he was affecting Legolas, and he continued, “It was a day of victory when Mirkwood burned. Unfortunately, they left a few stragglers.” This last word he said with emphasis, spraying Legolas with spit as he hissed.

The mention of his home was enough to push Legolas past a reasonable point. He released one hand from Grima and shoved his forearm against the man’s thin neck, pressing hard enough to make him gasp for air, “You sound as though you know what happened in Mirkwood. Perhaps you know who gave orders for the orcs to invade my home. I should like to know whom I must hunt down for my revenge. Perhaps I will just start with you.” Legolas forced his arm harder against Grima’s neck, making the man sputter and choke for air.

“You should all burn,” Grima croaked, “Ever last one of you filth elves.”

Legolas gritted his teeth. Hate and vengeance were driving him mad with the need to kill, and Grima could be his first victim. He felt he had every right to kill the man. There was not a doubt in his mind that Grima was controlling King Théoden, if he only knew how. Kill him now and he’d have no more control. Surely the other’s would understand his reasoning.

Grima was gasping for air, his eyes rolling up so that only the whites showed. Legolas was not letting up. The man regretted mentioning anything about Mirkwood. Just as he thought he would lose consciousness, or perhaps his life, someone called out.

“Legolas!” Théodred yelled. “Legolas, stop this!”

But Legolas did not stop. He did not ease his grip or turn to Théodred, “He is responsible. He must pay.”

“Not like this,” Eomer said from behind his cousin, “We believe you, but you must let him go.”

Legolas did not react right away, making everyone think he would kill Grima no matter what anyone -said. Then, he lowered his arm and released his grip. Grima took in a long life-saving gasp of air and clutched his hand over his throat, rubbing his neck. He bent forward, heaving as if he might throw up, coughing and sputtering. His head slowly came up and he glared at Legolas, “I will have you thrown into the dungeons at once. You have attacked a citizen of Rohan and a man of the courts. Prince Théodred, call the guards and have this dastardly elf taken away.”

Théodred and Eomer came to stand side by side with Legolas. Théodred shook his head, “I’m afraid I cannot do that.”

Grima looked shocked, “You can and you will. You are a witness to the brutality that he bestowed upon me. He tried to strangle me.”

Théodred smiled with devilry, “I suppose you are right. I did see Legolas bring you within an inch of your life, and I could have him arrested, but I also know that he swore to protect the city, and he would not act without reason. Since I am the Prince, I could order an investigation here; find out exactly why Legolas thought he needed to exterminate you. Perhaps a search of your room would reveal something of evidence.”

Grima managed to come to his full height, anger showing in his black eyes, “You would find nothing.”

“Ah, you see, that is where you are wrong. While I was speaking with my father, I had someone take a look around in your quarters,” Théodred said, as he brought something out of his pocket.

Legolas looked to see what it was. Some strange talisman, he thought, until he realized that it was a lock of reddish blond hair tied to what looked like a small animal bone.

“Do you want to tell me whose hair this might be, and what kind of strange ritual you might be doing with it?” Théodred continued.

“Eowyn,” Legolas whispered.

Unable to contain his anger any longer, Eomer lunged forward, grabbing Grima’s robe tightly at the neck, and twisting as hard as he could, “Leave my sister alone, or you’ll wish the elf had finished what he was about to do.”

Grima could see he was outnumbered. He grabbed Eomer’s wrist, pulling himself free. Then he looked at Legolas with evil intent, “This is not over.” He pulled his robe around him and stormed off in the direction of his room.

Legolas stepped away from his friends, needing a moment to calm himself. Théodred and Eomer looked at each other, and then Théodred offered a friendly hand on Legolas’ shoulder, “Are you alright?”

Legolas slowly shook his head, “I could have killed him. I wanted to, and I think I almost did. The things he was saying about me, about elves and Mirkwood—”

Eomer noticed a dark stain on the side of Legolas’ pants. Then the wound on the side of his hand revealed the source of the blood. He reached for Legolas’ arm and lifted it, “You’re bleeding.”

Legolas pulled his arm away rather hastily, but immediately smiled and nodded, “Oh that, I’d forgotten.”

“Did Grima do that?” Théodred asked, hoping he had another reason to go after the man.

“No, I did, or rather, I had help from one of the tables,” Legolas answered, trying to add a bit of humor. The tension in the air was too thick and he thought he might drown.

“Do you suddenly loath the décor?” Eomer chaffed.

Legolas tried to laugh, though it came out more of a huff of air. Finally, he turned to his friends and found sincere concern for his well-being marking their faces. These are men, he thought, no longer the boys he first met upon my arrival to Rohan. These were his brothers in a way. They would always be there for each other. They would never judge him, and they would always believe him, no matter what happened. Legolas realized that hope was not completely gone. Lúta may have left, and the King may not be in his right mind, but he could depend of Théodred and Eomer, and that was a very comforting thought.

He looked to the strange talisman that Théodred still held in his hand and gestured to it, “Did you really find that in Grima’s room?”

“Oh, yes … well, I didn’t find it, but someone else did,” Théodred answered smartly.

“If you and Eomer were with your father, then who did you entrust to search Wormtongue’s room?” Legolas wondered. Théodred would not have asked just anyone to follow out such a delicate order.

“Can I have that, please?” Eowyn asked as she approached. She took it from Théodred and held it, turning it over in her hand.

“You?” Legolas asked surprised.

“Who else?” she smiled, “Théodred caught me in the hallway on his way to see his father, and asked me to do a little snooping. Luckily, Grima wasn’t there.”

“That’s because he was busy listening at the door,” Legolas informed, “He seemed to know that we were talking about with Théoden.”

“Grima seems to know a lot of what happens around here,” Eomer said, adding to the conversation. He turned to Eowyn, and pointed to the strange talisman, “What is that thing?”

Eowyn held it with the tips of her fingers, “I presume it to be some sort of love charm. Luckily for me, it doesn’t seem to work.”

Eomer took his sister’s hand, “Legolas informed me about Grima’s wandering eye. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I don’t know. I guess I thought I could handle things on my own. Then Legolas was there one of the times, and saw the lust in Grima’s filthy black eyes,” she smiled at Legolas, “I still don’t trust him not to bother me.”

“I don’t think he’ll be around you much, now that he sees that we know his intent,” Théodred said.

Eowyn lifted the talisman and made a disgusted face, “Whatever he was doing with this, I never want to find out.”

She heard Legolas moan, and looked to see him flexing the fingers of his injured hand, “Oh, Legolas, you’ve been hurt,” she said with alarm.

“It is nothing,” he said, shying away from her, but Eowyn took up his arm and brought it into the light.

“You’ve broken the skin. What happened?” she asked concerned.

“He punched a table,” Eomer answered for his friend with a comical tone.

Eowyn wanted to know why, but she could tell from the expression on Legolas’ face, that he did not want to discuss it here. Instead, she released him and smiled, “Come with me, and I’ll fix you up. Then you can avoid a trip to the healing house.”

“I would very much appreciate that.”

“Legolas,” Théodred called as Eowyn led his friend away, “Meet Eomer and I at the mead hall when you are done.”

Legolas nodded and continued along his way with Eowyn.

* * *

After attending to his injured pride, as well as his raw throat, Grima slipped into Théoden’s office, surprised to find the man sitting in his chair looking worn. Grima was sure the King would be in his personal quarters, but this was just as well. It was time to get to work, and repair any damage that Théodred or Legolas might have done.

“Oh, Sire you look a bit fatigued. I do hope all is well,” he hissed sweetly. He poured a glass of wine and emptied the contents of the horse ring into it, giving it a quick swirl to dissolve the poisonous powder. Then he handed it to Théoden, and smiled wickedly behind the King’s back. 

Théoden smiled upon seeing his chief counselor, “Ah, thank you Grima. Just what this old man needs to calm his mind.” He took a drink, closed his eyes and let the warmth of the wine travel through his body. 

“Is there something wrong?” Grima asked as he came around to stand next to the King, laying a gentle hand on his liege’s shoulder.

“I just had a visit from my son. He does not agree with my decision, and I must say … I am beginning to have second thoughts too.”

Grima cringed, “Why no my king, I think you have made the right choice. If what Lothlorien predicts comes true, and Dol Guldur empties its broken towers, Helm’s Deep will need to be ready and armed by the time Edoras arrives.” He waited until Théoden took another long sip and swallowed before he continued, “As a matter of fact, maybe you should send some of the city’s weaponry along with the blacksmiths. You have plenty here to spare a few swords and spears. And the enemy knows that Rohan will not stay at Edoras. They know you will go to Helm’s Deep. 

“Yes,” Théoden agreed, succumbing to the poison. “All of Middle-earth knows that the Rohirrim will take up their blades at the Hornburg.” His mind cleared for a moment as he regarded Grima. “But what if they come unseen and attack the city while our weapons are stored at the fortress?”

“The elves of Lorien are ever watchful, Sire. They will send word. The orcs cannot get past without being seen. Besides,” Grima laughed nervously, “Where else would the orcs and goblins approach from? Dol Guldur is their main stay from what I have heard.” Grima took the goblet from Théoden and placed it on his desk, “If you would like, I will organize the weapons transport.”

Théoden slouched back into his chair, suddenly overcome with drowsiness and smiled, “Again, you are right, Grima. Well, I will take your advice into consideration, but right now I think I shall retire to my quarters. I think the wine has made me a bit sleepy.”

“As you wish, my King.” Grima bowed and watched Théoden exit his office. When he was alone, he rubbed his hands together and smiled, “Perfectly played if I must say so myself.” He laughed as he walked to a map laid out on a table, his skeletal fingers tracing a circle around Dol Guldur. “You are right, my lord Saruman, Théoden expects the enemy to march from the southern forest.” His forefinger moved to the elven realm of Lothlorien. “And of course, the elves will expect this too.” Then his hand hovered above Rohan. He dug his long fingernail into the yellowed parchment, leaving a mark as it moved from the Riddermark to Isengard, where Saruman resided in the tower of Orthanc. Grima laughed again, but this time with more malice, his grey eyes darkening, “But no one will see it coming from here. No one will be watching Isengard. They will not suspect a thing. By then, once my lord, the White Wizard has built his army, Théoden will be completely bent to his will. There will be no order of refuge at Helm’s Deep. Edoras and its people will be vulnerable and susceptible to attack. Helm’s Deep will remain empty, but for their weapons … hmm, the fools. Saruman will attack Rohan, and I’ll return to Isengard with my heart’s desire. Once Rohan is overthrown, I’ll return to sit on the throne with my new queen. Oh, my sweet Eowyn, you will learn to love me by then. I will be all that you have left of Rohan and I will keep you safe.” His eyes closed, and a half smile appeared upon his thin grey lips as he dreamed of that day, but a vision of Legolas stepping between them disrupted his fantasy.

“I must destroy the elf and the trust that the people have for him ... ruin his reputation and implant doubts until he is despised by everyone. And when he is no better than the things that swim at the bottom of a cesspool, and no one cares what happens to him, I’ll kill him. It is the only way to rid myself of his nuisance.”

Grima rubbed his knobby knuckles as he considered how to carry out his plans, “The elf must go, first and foremost, but I cannot do this alone. I need to recruit a few weak minds to do my bidding. It will be easier by the time all of this comes into play. That is what I need to do next, and I already have an idea of who will fit neatly into the palm of my hand.” Grima left Théoden’s office in search of his future henchmen. More minds to take over, more spirits to break. He looked forward to the challenge. He looked forward to the day that Legolas was no more.


	18. Winter's Chill

The mead hall was never a dull place, and tonight was especially lively as the musicians struck up a pleasant tune. The men of Rohan were in a particularly cheerful mood as they settled into a milder disposition that the winter seemed to bring about. There were no crops to take care of, no horse or cattle breeding to see to, and even the soldiers had more time for friends and family. Life slowed to a relaxing pace, as their worries were fewer.

The cold wind brought in a larger than normal crowd. Gathering in the tavern had more advantages than naught. Warmth was the most inviting reason to someone who just came in off the street. Once inside, their priorities shifted to liquor. The men of Rohan believed in warming themselves from the inside out. Tonight, there was not an empty seat to be found. The patrons lined up along the walls just to get out of the cold, and enjoy the usual bitter ale and warmer winter drinks.

Laughter spiked here and there, like sirens amongst a sea of robust men, deep and hearty. Every now and then, someone would jump up, and shout out an announcement. Someone was celebrating a birthday. Another’s wife had just given birth to their fifth child. From somewhere on the left side of the tavern, a young man claimed that he was to wed in the spring. That one in particular got the crowd in an uproar of congratulations and toasts until someone else announced that the same lucky couple was expecting their first child by the end of the spring. The cheers halted as they thought about that for a moment. Then, as if they all came to the correct calculations, they raised their mugs once again, howling and whistling, a few shouting ‘at-a-boy’ praises.

Théodred and Eomer joined in with the celebratory hollering, each time taking a hearty swig from their mugs. Legolas, however, sat on his bench, staring into the yellow liquid in deep concentration, and then swallowed the contents without taking a breath. He had just finished his fourth glass.

His hand, though it had looked as if it was run over by a wagon, was no longer throbbing thanks to his inebriated state and Eowyn’s doctoring. Without the distraction of pain, he was left with thoughts of his empty heart. Try as he might, no amount of ale or injury could get Lúta out of his mind.

Legolas had watched other men as they suffered from loss like this. Some men stayed angry for as long as they could, hoping misery would erase their wounds. Others took on twice their usual workload to keep themselves occupied. Some men sought female companionship with a woman who did not mind if he was a blundering fool. It usually ended badly for those poor souls, regretting their decisions just as soon as the haze lifted, and they were sober enough to realize they made matters worse. Legolas thought about this for a moment. He had never been with anyone but Lúta. He knew her mind, her body, her likes and dislikes. He knew this because they had grown together in this way. The thought of bedding a woman that he knew nothing about seemed intimidating … or did it? Could he involve his body but not his heart? The men did it all the time, especially those that had no commitment. Suddenly, the thought was quite enticing. Sex without emotional attachment seemed wrong somehow, but then he would never have to feel the emptiness that he felt right now.

Someone set another round of drinks on their table. Legolas stared at the frothy head on the mug as it rose well above the rim of the glass before spilling over the sides, and slowly slipping down to pool on the table at the base of the mug. He stuck his finger in the foam, swirled it around, and then sucked it off his finger.

Suddenly the table next to theirs erupted with a cheer for some reason unknown to Legolas. The men jumped up and began singing to the tune that the musicians played. As they did, one of the men bumped into Legolas, nearly knocking him from his bench. His reflexes were slower due to the effects of the alcohol and he threw out his injured hand to grab the table to from falling. The sudden jarring and sharp pain ignited his anger, and he stumbled to his feet, addressing the man who he thought was responsible for reminding him of his injury.

“W-watch what you’re doing,” he stuttered. His elf eyes were blazing with anger.

The man he was addressing stood up from his seat. Legolas watched him rise, and it seemed he would never stop growing, or was the ceiling coming down to meet the man’s head. Everything looked like a blur.

“Were you addressing me?” asked a very tall, very muscular man with full beard and shining brown eyes. He curled his fingers into fists and then stretched them out straight again, his knuckles cracking and popping as he did.

That was a familiar sound to Eomer, and his attention shifted from the singing patrons to Legolas. The elf was standing straight, though teetering back and forth a bit, and looking up at the behemoth in front of him. The man whom he seemed to be challenging looked down at Legolas as if he were nothing more than a pestering fly that he could swat away easily. Legolas lifted his swollen hand to the man. “Have you no respect for an injured soldier?” he accused.

The man narrowed his eyes into slits, obviously not concerned about the elf being a soldier nor his injured hand. “Tell it to someone who cares,” he answered, and some his friends chuckled quietly as they watched. The man, who seemed as though he would really rather ignore the elf, shook his head and smiled with only one corner of his mouth, “You’re lucky I am in a good mood, so why don’t you just sit back down before that changes.” Without waiting to see Legolas’ reaction, the man turned his back, and sat down on his bench.

Legolas’ anger and stupidity was reason for his bad decision to tap the man on the shoulder in an attempt to continue their conversation. “I d-don’t believe I was done with you y-yet,” Legolas stammered, his words slurring together. Eomer wondered just how much Legolas had to drink. Unfortunately, it was enough for him to think he could take on this seasoned Rider of the Mark.

The man lifted his tree trunk sized legs over the bench and swiveled around to face Legolas. “So, you are not through with me?” he challenged. He started to stand again, but his friend, another well-built man, put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

“Easy friend,” the second man said soothingly. “It is too cold of a night to get thrown out of the tavern because of this milksop. Just ignore him. He’s drunk.”

Legolas turned to the second man and eyed him, “Milksop?” he said through his teeth, his eyes tapering with animosity. He opened his mouth to spurt out a stream of derogatory remarks, but Eomer jumped to his side and grabbed him by his shoulders.

“I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself,” Eomer warned his friend. Then he smiled to the men at their neighboring table. “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s had a rough day, lost his girl, almost lost his hand, and now he seems to be losing his good judgment. Let me make it up to you. Next round is on my friend and me.”

Legolas’ head wobbled as he turned it towards Eomer, “I’m n-not buying them a-anything.”

Eomer took a coin from his pocket and one from Legolas’, tossing them onto the men’s table, “My humblest apologies.” Before giving Legolas another chance to say or do something they would both regret, he forced the elf to walk with him, away from their table, leaving Théodred behind. The prince had his back turned to the excitement, and hadn’t known what almost happened. Eomer shouted at him before he got too far, “Théo, I’m taking Legolas out for a bit of fresh air,” he yelled above the increasing noise of the tavern.

Théodred nodded and waved, “I’ll come with you.”

“We’ll lose our seat,” Eomer called back, but it was too late. As soon as Théodred got up, he waved to some men nearby who quickly took the prince’s offer.

“I think we’ve had our fun for tonight, or at least Legolas has. Let’s get him home.” Théodred followed them outside.

A blast of cold air hit them as soon as they exited the tavern. Eomer and Théodred tightened their coats around their bodies and shrunk inside like a turtle drawing into its shell. “It’s colder than a wraith’s breath,” Eomer said as he shivered.

“I can’t remember any winter ever being this biting.” Théodred walked on Legolas’ right side, talking across the elf to his cousin.

“It’s times like this that I wish I had the tolerance of the elves. Legolas, you are not affected at all by this bitter chill,” Eomer said as he shivered slightly.

“No, only the biting words of love lost could freeze my bones and believe me, I am like ice inside,” Legolas confessed.

Théodred knew what the elf was feeling right now. “Everyone has been jilted by a lover at some point in their lives. Unfortunately, Lúta was your first love, and that can be the hardest to recover from. We have all been there, my friend, and hopefully the right one will come along some day.”

Théodred’s smile was genuine in that one moment out in the cold street. Legolas noticed the glimmer in his eyes as he thought about Rawynn. He truly did love her and Legolas saw it clearly, “What you have now is what I thought Lúta and I had.”

“No doubt what you had was special, but she wasn’t the one.” Théodred roughly threw his arm around Legolas’ shoulder, “When you find her, there’s no warning, no sign. You’ll just see her and you’ll know. You’ll look at her, and no sunrise will ever be the most beautiful sight you’ve seen. You’ll hear her speak, and no longer will the winds blowing across the plains call you home. Then you’ll kiss her, and know that every breath you take is because of her. She will be your sunrise, and always first in your waking thoughts. The sound of her voice will call you home, and home will be wherever she dwells. That’s when you will know, my elf friend.”

Théodred’s words seemed to sober Legolas slightly. What he said made sense. What he said … well, some of it he had felt for Lúta, most of it actually, but now he wondered if it was too much for her, “I don’t think I’ll be handing over my heart so easily anymore. When an elf loves, we tend to give it all at once. Our emotions are very strong, perhaps too overwhelming for a human to understand.”

Eomer laughed, “You love to love.”

Legolas smiled, “Yes, but when that love is refused, the pain is just as strong.”

Théodred released his friend and watched to make sure Legolas was walking well on his own. Satisfied that he would make it home without any help, Théodred stopped, “Well, all this talk of love has set me in a mood. I’ll leave Eomer to get you home safely,” he smiled deviously, “The wind has chilled my bones, and a warm bed is calling out to me, but not this way.” They said their goodbyes, and Théodred went off to find Rawynn.

Eomer and Legolas walked the rest of the way in silence, each deep in his own thoughts. They stopped outside of Legolas’ room, and Eomer patted his shoulder, “Get a good night’s rest, and everything will look better in the morning.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Legolas replied. Then he slipped into his room, kicked off his boots and striped off his shirt. He was too tired to do anything more and collapsed on his bed, succumbing to the alcohol, and entered into the realm of elvish sleep.

* * *

Several weeks had passed. Winter was at its midway point. The weather had been unpredictable, and so had Legolas. His mood switched rapidly from being an uncommunicative by-stander, to that of an argumentative opponent. He was spending a lot of his nights at the mead hall, with or without his friends. The bar maids had all taken up a special liking to him, especially once the ale had a hold of him. He admitted that he liked the extra attention, but that was as far as it went.

“Forget her, lovey,” they would croon, “We’ll give you all the affection you need and then some.”

Legolas would laugh it off, kiss a hand or two, and make them swoon. He also found that his ale now came from the kegs of better brew, leaving the wargs piss to the rest of the patrons. It was a nice trade off, he thought, just as long as the servants didn’t expect actual payment for their offerings; though one of them was a very sensuous temptation. 

These were all just games though, safe enough to play without being burned. Still, it had been quite some time since he had someone to warm his bed. His mind told him no, that it was too soon, but other parts of his body had other ideas. Sooner or later, he would have to give in to the temptations.

The time that he dreaded the most was coming back to the ghastly silence of his room. It was very lonely, especially when left to his dreams. Sometimes they were lewd and seductive, and he awoke with a throbbing ache. Those he could control and find his own means of relief. Most were merciless nightmares of his past, quick flashes of his father being overcome by orcs, or of Elhadron’s lifeless eyes staring up into his own. Lust or death, he thought, a fine line divided the two. 

This particular night it had been lust that woke him, the coquettish bar maid with the playful brown eyes. In his dream, she had been exquisitely playful. When he woke, he looked down to find the sheet tented in a most peculiar place.

“This is ridiculous,” he chastened.

Legolas looked to the window of his room. It was still dark outside. Maybe it was not too late to go back to the mead hall and find the kittenish woman who haunted his recent dreams. He got up and went to the window. At a better look, he could see a very faint glow in the horizon. It was later than he thought. The sun would be up soon.

When he came home last night, the wind had been howling, but now it had died away. A still chill settled inside the King’s home, and Legolas wondered how the others faired. It was always colder in Meduseld lately, and not just the surrounding air. Legolas was constantly worried about the coming days. He could feel a shift in the atmosphere around him, and it was disconcerting.

Legolas realized that he had fallen asleep with his trousers on again. Too lazy to change into clean clothes, he simply laced them up and reached for his shirt. One whiff and he decided he didn’t want to put on his shirt from last night. It smelled of ale and smoke from the crowded tavern. He glanced at the wardrobe across the room, but it seemed too far to walk. Instead, he grabbed his robe, draped haphazardly over the post at the end of his bed. Usually, he only wore it to the bathing room in the morning. Right now, he did not feel like being in the confined space of his bedroom, so he slipped into his robe and loosely tied it. It would do, he thought. He was only going to the hall to check on the fire. It must have gone out. The damp cold air was almost too chilly for him, and he knew the others must have been turned to ice.

Legolas liked the velvet robe. It was deep red—a favorite and common color used throughout Meduseld—and trimmed in fur. The robe felt very comforting against the bare skin of his chest. It reminded him of his father, who wore one similar. He could remember sitting on his father’s lap, and playing with the gold embroidery that decorated the edges of the dark green robe. Such short-lived memories, he thought sadly.

As Legolas left his room, he almost collided with one of the servants, a young woman named Audwyn. She was carrying a bucket of heated water to the bathing room, and some of it sloshed out onto the floor. Legolas reached for her arm to steady her, “My apologies. Here, let me help you.”

“Oh no, quite alright, my lord,” she said and looked to his fair face, “Will you be requiring a bath? This one will be occupied soon, but I will start a second tub if you like.”

He turned his head left and then right, sniffing as he scrunched each shoulder, “Is it that obvious?” he laughed.

“Enough so that I know you were at the mead hall last evening,” Audwyn jested in return, “The smell of smoke covers your usual aura.”

“My aura?” he asked.

“Oh yes, everyone has one. I have a keen sense of smell, and I tend to notice these sorts of things.”

“And just what does mine represent?” he asked curiously.

Audwyn closed her eyes and leaned forward, sniffing delicately, “Yours is quite intoxicating … of fresh turned earth and moss, with just a hint of pine.” She opened her eyes to find him smiling at her and she blushed, “As I said, my sense of smell is heightened more than average.”

“You should have been an elf then,” he said.

Audwyn’s eyes quickly scanned his chest where the robe had slipped aside, “I most certainly would like to know what it’s like to have one,” she said dreamily, and gasped at her slip of tongue. “Oh, I mean, what it’s like to be one. Hmph, silly me.”

She was not helping his mood, especially after waking from his arousing dream, but he was not complaining. Instead, he smiled genuinely and nodded, “Perhaps I will have you draw me that bath after all.”

“As you wish,” she smiled and bowed before delivering her water.

Legolas made his way down the hallway and exited into the main gathering hall. Just as he thought, there was no fire in the hearth. Théoden never used to let this happen, but now he did not check. It seemed the cold did not affect the King anymore.

Legolas picked up a few logs from a nearby pile, and placed them on top of the warm ashes, noticing that there were no glowing embers. The fire was completely spent. As he took a torch from the wall to light the logs, he noticed a heap of pale blue satin and white fur lying on the divan, his favorite place to sit and read. It was Eowyn, probably come to sleep by the fire. Her room, no doubt had become too cold. Legolas quietly walked to the fire pit. After some time, the kindling caught and eventually lit the logs, which started to crackle and pop loudly. The heap of blue satin and fur moved and stretched like a cat waking from a nap, and Eowyn blinked as she opened her eyes.

“Legolas, I did not hear you. Is everything alright?” she asked groggily, her voice cracking.

Crouching next to the fire, he looked over his shoulder, his face thrown into shadow, “All is well. Go back to sleep if you can. I did not mean to wake you, but the fire went out.”

“It must be close to dawn, and besides, I’ve slept long enough.” She sat up, her bare toes touching the stone floor. She gasped through her teeth, and pulled her legs back onto the sofa, tucking her feet beneath the fur throw as she noticed Legolas’ bare feet, “How can you walk on this frozen stone without any shoes?”

Satisfied with the fire, Legolas stood up, and gave a nodding gesture to her feet, “I could ask the same thing of you. I don’t see your slippers.”

She reached beneath the throw at the end of the divan, and drew out a pair of pale blue slippers that matched her robe, “I fell asleep with them on. They must have slipped off.”

Legolas joined Eowyn on the sofa, bending his knees and crisscrossing his legs like he usually did. He slumped forward and watched the orange yellow fingers of the fire reach higher above the burning logs. The frolicking flames lit the hall, and shadows danced all around them. Eowyn caught a glimpse of anguish flit across his face as the light from the fire illuminated him, “Are you sure you are alright?”

What could he really say? ‘Yes, I’m fine outside of waking to a painful cockstand every morning.’ He chuckled at the thought, and Eowyn raised an eyebrow, “All is well.” Then he turned the question on her, “What about you? Why are you sleeping in the hall?”

Eowyn sighed heavily, “I could not sleep. My thoughts keep me awake more than naught.”

“What worries you? Has Grima—”

“No,” she interrupted, finding his name disgusting to her ears, “He has left me alone, but it’s my uncle that I fear for now. He hardly leaves his rooms anymore, and I know this is Grima’s doing,” she whispered carefully as if the shadows were listening, “Legolas, he gains more control over my uncle with every passing moment, but there is nothing I can do. The King hardly listens to anyone anymore.”

Legolas nodded, “Théoden insists that every decision is his own doing, and the proper thing to do, but I cannot see that these are sound choices. Sending the blacksmiths away, and now sending half of our armories … it is as if he means to disarm the city, and that has me worried also.”

“When I snuck into Wormtongue’s room, I searched as well as I could. I was sure I would find something … some poison or incantation, anything besides that strange talisman made from my hair. I found absolutely nothing. It puzzles me how he has gained so much control over the King.”

“It puzzles me too, but we must find out somehow and put a stop to it. If Théoden only knew what was happening, I have no doubt that he would expel Grima from Rohan altogether.” As he finished speaking, he felt Eowyn shiver slightly, and he moved closer to her until the sides of their thighs touched.

Eowyn noticed and smiled at him. She had always been very relaxed in Legolas’ company, but sitting here side by side in the dark, in front of a warm fire … it almost seemed romantic. In order to break her thoughts, she looked at his hand, which she mended a few weeks ago, “How is it?” she asked pointing.

 

“All healed up,” he replied, laying his hand on his knee, “Within just a few days. I’m an elf, remember. We heal quickly.”

“And what about the elvish heart, does that heal just as fast?” She had been meaning to ask him how he’d been since Lúta left and broke his heart. He had seemed distant since that time.

Legolas remained silent, as he stared into the fire. Of all the things wrong in recent days, he couldn’t deny the fact that Lúta was at the root of his misery.

Eowyn examined his face, saw the loneliness and grief. He did not need to speak for her to know the turmoil in his heart, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry. It’s only … I know how much you love her.”

“Loved,” he corrected quickly.

“The mind may be able to block out the pain, but the heart cannot change so easily,” she continued, “but like any wound, it will heal in time.”

Legolas nodded and leaned down to pick up a stick that he used to move the logs around in the fire. As he did, his robe fell open, exposing his bare chest. Eowyn had only ever seen him in his uniform or in the casual clothes that he wore when at home and not on duty. His muscles were much more pronounced than she had imagined. The light from the fire illuminated his alabaster skin, and he glowed like an apparition, accentuating his toned stomach and chest. She had never imagined that any elf could look so muscular, but it was obvious that Legolas worked very hard at his craft of archery and swordplay. He had always intrigued her, but never more than right now.

After toying with the fire, Legolas sat up straight again. He sighed and let the stick fall to the floor, “She told me to go back with my own kind, Eowyn. She said I did not belong here, and I admit that sometimes I wonder if she was speaking the truth.”

“No, Legolas, you belong here. I believe that and so should you. Everything happens for a reason, and there is a reason that you came to Rohan.” Eowyn could hardly bear it. The anguish on his countenance was undeniable. Legolas’ heart was grieving for the loss of his first love. She reached for a lock of his wheat colored hair covering his face, and tucked it behind his ear. Her finger lightly grazed his cheek, and he felt the chill of her skin. He reached up and took her hand.

“You are so cold,” he said with concern, and brought her icy palm to his chest.

Eowyn’s heart raced quicker than the strides of Rohan’s fastest steed. He was so warm and smooth, yet hard beneath the velvety skin, “Legolas—” she started, but he interrupted.

“You are chilled to the bone,” he said and pulled her against him to give her some of his warmth.

To say she never thought about Legolas would be a lie. Eowyn had considered him from time to time. He was very captivating with his piercing blue eyes and long flaxen hair. He had a smile that could light up the darkest heart. He was also the best friend of her brother and cousin, and Théoden considered him family. It was these thoughts that kept her from dwelling too much on his handsomeness. Yet now, as he held her, she forgot about all the reasons not to feel anything but friendship towards him, and thought about the one fantasy that haunted her dreams in the darkest hours of the night … a kiss … a first kiss, and allowing Legolas the honor.

After a while, she sat up again and smiled, “Thank you,” she said shyly, “I’m much warmer now.” Their eyes caught in each other’s stare. Then her sight traced the bridge of his nose, his high cheekbones and pointed ears, his straight jaw, and finally settled onto his slightly parted ambrosial lips, “Legolas, there is something else that worries me. I have heard my uncle talking about a betrothal … for me.”

“What?” Legolas said shocked, “To whom?”

“I do not know. No names have been spoken, but I have my suspicions.” Eowyn’s eyes dropped to her lap.

“Théoden would never hand you to Grima,” Legolas said, knowing whom Eowyn was referring to.

“I don’t know about that. Wormtongue has suggested so many ideas that my uncle has made into orders. As I said, Grima has more control than we first imagined, and I fear this might be part of his plan. It would explain a lot of things, his hidden stares, and that … that thing I found in his room.”

“Well, I won’t let him make that decision,” Legolas demanded, “I would not let that happen.”

“But what if it is not Grima? What if he is someone reputable? I will have no choice but to abide by my uncle’s rules. I am of age to marry, Legolas, and by confirming a betrothal, that will mean one less burden for the King.”

Legolas shook his head, “That is not a reason to marry. You should be free to choose for yourself and—”

Eowyn held her hands out to Legolas, palms up and inviting him to take them. When he did, she squeezed and looked away, “I’m not asking you to rescue me. I’m asking you to … I’m want you to . . .” she stuttered, “Legolas, I’ve never been kissed.”

This didn’t really surprise him. Eowyn took great pride in her innocence, and he knew that she was saving those moments as though they were precious gifts, “I figured this much, and when you are betrothed—”

“Legolas!” she interrupted, obviously aggravated, “I want my first kiss to be with you!” It was not exactly the way she meant to ask, but . . .

“With me? But why? Why not save it for the man you will marry?”

“If what my uncle plans for me are true, my betrothed will be a stranger, and … I never wanted my first kiss to be with a stranger,” she admitted.

“Oh,” he replied, unable to think of anything else to say.

They sat quietly staring into the fire. The silence growing between them was becoming uncomfortable. Finally, Legolas gave a whispered answer, “Alright.”

It occurred to him that she must have been building up the courage to ask this of him. She asked so suddenly, and it caught him by surprise. A kiss was one of many intimate moments two people shared. Of course, she would want this to be with someone she knew and trusted. All of her other intimacies she would experience only with her future husband, whomever that might be, but a kiss … well, that could be shared between friends.

He shifted so that he was facing her and smiled softly, “I would be honored, Lady Eowyn.”

She looked relieved, and at the same time nervous. Legolas cupped her face and closed the distance between them. He could almost hear her heart pounding wildly. He still held her hand in his, and brought it against his chest so she could feel the rhythm of his own heart. Her breath hastened with anticipation. Her eyes closed and lips parted. Then they touched, supple lips melting together, sharing the same breath, tense muscles becoming more limber as they gave into the intimacy of a first tender kiss. 

After a time that felt like an eternity, Legolas released her and lowered her hand. Her eyes remained closed, but she smiled shyly, and turned her head to the side, “That was nice, but not what I expected.”

Eowyn opened her eyes and found him frowning with his head cocked to the side. Realizing what she just said, she laughed nervously, “Oh … no, I didn’t mean it that way. No Legolas, it was much more than what I had anticipated. It was … it was truly magical.”

“Oh,” he said with relief. Then he knitted his brow as he regarded her, “So, you have thought about this, have you?” he teased.

Eowyn blushed and looked to her lap wishing she could crawl beneath the divan and disappear, “A time or two perhaps.”

“Well, my sweet Lady Eowyn,” he whispered as he reached for her chin and brought her attention back to him, “You need no further instruction. Your kiss was perfect.” His words made her blush even more.

Embarrassed by her admittance that she had dreamt of him, Eowyn quickly seized the moment, and reigned in her emotions. She gestured to one of the windows as it glowed orange from the rising sun, “Time to get our day started.”

Legolas smiled wide, his dimples prominently showing, “Yes it is.” He stood from the divan, and offered her his hand, helping her up. Then he bowed and kissed her knuckles, “A good day to you.”

Eowyn laughed. Legolas was never so cordial with her, but right now he seemed the perfect gentleman, “An to you, sir,” she answered between snickers.

Legolas straightened from his bow, releasing her hand, but his face had lost some of its playfulness, “Eowyn, I meant what I said about Grima. I will not let him convince Théoden to give him your hand.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. It had been the right decision to tell Legolas about her concerns. She knew he would watch out for her.

With that, the intimacy of the moment dissolved back to friendship as if nothing had happened, and Legolas made his way back to his room, remembering that a bath had been drawn for him. As he walked through the hallway, he gave Lúta a quick thought. Although his heart still ached over his loss, it was not as intense as before, and he knew he was past the initial pain. He could move on now, but he decided that he would not share his heart. Just like Eowyn entrusting him to her first kiss, Legolas’ heart was too precious of a gift to give away so easily.

He reached his door and turned the knob, only to find the servant, Audwyn, in his quarters. She had just finished making his bed and was leaning forward, adjusting the pillows. She stood and eyed him from head to toe, “Your water has been drawn. Perhaps my lord would like help preparing for his bath?” she asked as she bit her bottom lip.

He felt his body respond immediately. Well, he thought to himself, he’d sworn not to involve his heart, but it did not mean other parts could not be involved. Along with the new dawn, a new chapter began for Legolas. Time to see if Théodred was right about all the women who swooned by his mere presence. He raised a brow, and gave Audwyn a devious smile, “I believe I will take you up on your offer.”

He could hear her release a breath she’d been holding in anticipation of his answer, and she seemed to relax, “Would my lord like me to assist with his bathing, or shall I help you undress too?”

Legolas walked towards her, and wrapped a hand around her waist. He pulled her to him so she could feel, as well as hear his answer, as he whispered in her ear, “First of all, you will refer to me by my name, and second, I would prefer you be there from beginning to satisfying end.” He took her hand and pulled her along with him as he entered the hallway. Then they walked hurriedly to the bathing room together, and disappeared into the steamy room, the door securely locked behind them. All of Legolas’ inhibitions were permanently swept aside and winter’s chill was forgotten for the moment.


	19. Eye for an Eye

Legolas was now nineteen, considered a man amongst the Rohirrim … still only a child to an elf, had there been any elves to help raise him. Unfortunately, that was not the case, and Legolas grew and matured alongside his companions. He had finished his duties as a watchtower guard, and was entering into the league of soldiers to help maintain the borders outside of the city walls. He had plenty of time to think and to prepare. He honed in on his archery skills, his weapon of choice. Legolas’ aim was deadly. There was no one better with a longbow. He still used Folvar’s weapon, gifted to him by the Woodsman upon bringing the elf to Rohan. The bow was sturdy, and he knew it well, as if it were a part of his body.

Théodred was now Second Marshall of the Mark, and in command of the Rohirrim army. He appointed Eomer as a captain, in charge of his own battalion, and Legolas would serve under Eomer’s command.

On this latest tour, the army was heading for a section of the Eastfold, along the Great West Road, and close to the old city of Aldburg. Orc sightings had been reported in this section of Rohan. Théodred was sending Eomer and his men out to patrol the area. This would be Legolas’ first time at the borders with the Rohirrim army, and he knew that he was more than ready to face any challenge.

They were dressed in full Rohirric armor, deep red leather chest plate with dual gold horses rearing up on their hindquarters and facing one another. Beneath the armor, they wore long chainmail tunics that hung below the knees. Thick trousers and black boots finished the look. It was heavy and it was hot. Legolas could understand why the horses had to be so well trained. They must learn to hold a lot of weight for long periods of time.

“Are you ready for your first tour at the borders?” Eomer asked, as he sat upon Firefoot next to Legolas and Arod.

Legolas smiled to his friend, “I’ve looked forward to this day for a long time, Eomer.”

“And what about Arod?” Eomer laughed, “There were a few times I thought this day would never come.”

“He was quite a challenge wasn’t he, but he is just as ready as I am.” Legolas reached forward and patted the dapple-grey horse’s thick neck, praising him in elvish.

As they rode out further along the way, Legolas took in the view. It was much more beautiful than the way anyone had explained it. There were flat plains of tall grasses and wildflowers, rolling hills covered in a carpet of green, and more stands of trees than he had realized. He suddenly longed to walk beneath the shaded boughs of those trees, free of his armor, and in nothing more than the skin he was born with. Surely, there was a pond or a cool stream where he could swim and listen to the trees speaking their slow quiet language. But he was not amongst the trees nor would he be any time soon. He was a border guard for one of the proudest countries of men he had the honor of knowing. He was coming into his own as a soldier at a time when talks of darkness and deceit were closing in on his foster country.

They had set up and made camp along the foothills of the mountains. Orcs were said to have been seen traveling along the mountain paths not far from here. Once the battalion was established, they would begin their patrol.

Legolas did not like the feel of the looming mountains. He seemed to sense the wretchedness that they housed. This made the other men feel a bit on edge. They knew Legolas, being an elf, would be more perceptive to danger. Some of the younger soldiers watched him carefully, waiting for any sign that he might give. The more seasoned warriors did not pay him any mind. They knew this was Legolas’ first time on patrol, and figured it was just nerves. So many new soldiers behaved in such a way as it was. Why would the elf be any different?

Eomer noticed the ripple of tension that ran through his troops, and it did not take him long to find the source. He approached Legolas soon after the camp had been made, “Would you like to take first watch tonight?”

“I might as well. I do not think I’ll be sleeping anyways,” Legolas said, and he leaned close so no one else would hear, “They know we are here, Eomer.”

“I figured that much, but I’m glad to have your confirmation. How far, do you know?”

Legolas lifted his head and sniffed the light breeze, “They are downwind from us, and it is hard to tell. I guess the orcs are not as dumb as we make them out to be.”

“They will not strike tonight, nor anytime soon, I imagine. They know we are on alert. That’s one thing about orcs, they don’t like outright confrontation … sneaky bastards that they are. They’ll wait until our guard is down, when they see they have more advantage. Cowards, the lot of them.” Eomer obviously had had dealings with them before. He looked towards the setting sun, “Better get something to eat before night settles in, Legolas.”

* * *

Eomer had been right about the orcs. It had been a week, and there were no signs of them anywhere. The men started to relax after just a few days, letting their guards down. Legolas learned to contain his emotions, so as not to affect the soldiers, but he was always on alert. The orcs were still there, a faceless enemy amongst the grey stony mountains. It was just a matter of time before they came down from their hiding spots, and when they did, Legolas would be ready.

He was sitting by the fire, listening to the older soldiers tell stories about past battles. It was interesting to hear their accounts, and it gave Legolas a better idea of what to expect from the fighting Rohirrim. They were quite ruthless warriors, he thought. They would charge into battle without a thought but for their families, or lie in ambush and spring upon their enemies. Those seemed to be the battles that they enjoyed the most, if one could call it such a thing. It almost seemed like a game to them. The men knew there was a very good chance with every fight that they would not come through it alive or in one piece. When they were successful, they shrugged off their victory with an air of indifference, and claimed that it just wasn’t their time, but maybe next time it would be. 

The evening was getting along, and more men joined the talk. Legolas had taken up patrolling during the late night/early morning hours, when the men seemed the least alert and their minds played tricks on them. Legolas was ever conscious and alert though, another advantage to his elvish heritage. He enjoyed these times with the men, getting to know them, and something about their families. Talk always turned to home as their supper filled and settled in their bellies.

This night, though, talk of home turned to talk of the King, and his unusual behavior. The men were wary of the changes they saw, and most came to the same conclusion. Grima was somehow involved. Eomer had agreed with this, of course, and told of his attempts to sway some of Théoden’s decisions, which he thought were unfounded. 

“It is not until you’ve been away for a while that you notice the differences,” one man said, “Edoras does not shine as it once did. Something tarnishes its golden halls.”

“And when was the last time the King addressed his people? I can’t say the last time I saw him. He keeps himself locked away,” said another.

“No one sees him without the presence of Grima either,” said a young soldier, “My father said his farm suffers from lack of supplies. He did his best by using seeds saved from his previous crops, but it is not enough. He does his best to remain self-sustaining, but not everything can be found in Edoras, and those are the things that have been looked over.”

“And the blacksmiths,” added a fourth man, “Tell us, Eomer, what was the reason for that decision?”

Eomer addressed the man, “Théodred and I both have spoken to him on many occasions about that. I disagree completely, but the King will not see our concerns. He is very adamant about his choice to send them to Helm’s Deep, along with our continued depleting armories. Unless a man can make his own weapons, there will be no new ones at hand.”

The man who started the conversation stood to make his point, “And what of Théodred? It is obvious that the King is not in his right mind. The Prince is next in command. Why does he not take over some of the decision making?”

Legolas spoke then, to answer for Eomer, “The King is old and maybe a bit feeble, but he still gives the commands. For Théodred to overthrow his rulings would be treason.”

Eomer stood from his seat and joined Legolas’ side, “However, Théodred works on his own to some degree, and so do I. Now, I am not saying that we would ignore a direct order from the King, but we sometimes make smaller, less obvious decisions without his approval.”

There was a hushed gasp among the men, and Eomer held up a hand to quiet them before the questions began, “Let me make this very clear. We are still loyal to the King. The fact is, we have taken a few matters into our own hands, very subtly mind you. Edoras must not be left vulnerable.”

“What do you plan to do then?” asked someone from group of gathered men.

“First, I would ask where your allegiance lies. Is it with your King or with your country?” Eomer asked.

A low murmur broke about over the crowd, and Eomer continued, “I know what you are thinking, one goes along with the other, but I am here to tell you that I have witnessed my uncle’s deterioration up close, and I have also seen the influence Grima has over him. Théoden takes his suggestions seriously, and most of the time he agrees with his chief advisor. I have told you that even his own son has no say anymore. I don’t know how yet, but Grima holds sway over every order that comes from the King, and there are some things that I cannot, in my right mind, agree with.” Eomer stopped a moment and let his words sink in with the crowd before continuing, “I love my uncle very much, but I have sworn an oath to my country. Knowing what I know, I feel I’m left with no choice but to go against some of the King’s decisions, merely for the fact that I think it puts Rohan and its people in harm’s way. Now, I’ll ask once more … who do you serve, your King or your country?”

One by one, the men spoke until they were chanting as a unified group, “Rohan! Rohan!”

Legolas watched as Eomer united his men, feeling great admiration for his friend. Eomer glanced over to where Legolas stood and bowed his head. Legolas placed his hand over his heart and bowed in return to his captain. Eomer’s troops would remain loyal to their captain from here on out. This was very important to him and Théodred as well, since they were preparing to send out an order not approved by the King. They were ordering some of the blacksmiths back to Edoras to begin restocking the armories.

When the men calmed, Eomer explained this to his battalion. Everyone was in agreement, even if Théoden was not involved. “As long as we do this discreetly and without Grima finding out, I think it can be done.”

One of the men standing in the back made his way up to the front where Eomer stood, and addressed his captain with his concerns, “There has been talk, Sir, of a group of people within Edoras who do not follow Théoden or Rohan. They are loyal to only one person … Grima. Now, when I heard this, I did not believe it, for I’ve found no one who does not get a shiver up their spine when they speak of Wormtongue. But I’m here to tell you that I have seen them. They do well to stay separate from each other, so as not to draw attention, and they visit Grima alone, never as a group. I’ve kept my eyes and ears open, and I think I know who some of them are. They are are guards stationed about the city. One or two of them are door guards for the Golden Hall itself.”

Legolas leaned towards Eomer’s ear, “Spies.”

“I knew Grima did not work alone,” Eomer whispered back, and then he addressed the rest, “This is why we remain loyal to Rohan and each other. It is not just us, it’s our family’s lives at stake. I don’t like the fact that these traitors live amongst my loved ones, but we have to be careful for now. We will do our duty, otherwise we will do what we must. Our goal is to rid Edoras of Grima Wormtongue and his henchmen, to find proof of his wickedness and make our King see him for what he is … a conniving slimy snake.”

The men cheered to that statement, and Eomer’s plan was set into motion. When the group dispersed and went about their business, Eomer retired to his tent, calling Legolas to follow him. The elf closed the flap behind him so they could speak privately.

“Did you know about these spies?” Eomer asked.

“I did not. I have been busy keeping my eye on Grima and watching out for your sister. Who do you suppose they are?”

Eomer shook his head, “I can assume they are not from Rohan.”

“They could have come at any time. There are new settlers arriving all the time, especially with the increasing attacks in the East Fold and West Fold,” Legolas informed.

“Do you suppose they are Dunlendings?” Eomer asked.

“That would be my first guess. They could fit in rather easily within Rohan and not raise any suspicions. Still, there is one thing that bothers me,” Legolas said with concern, “These spies work for Grima, I have no doubt, but Grima is not acting alone. There is something much larger at work here. Exiling Grima will not be enough. I think that whoever is sending out the orc troops is also aiding Grima with whatever he is using to weaken Théoden.”

“We need to capture and interrogate our enemy then. We must find out where they get their orders,” Eomer concluded.

Legolas smiled, “Leave that to me.”

* * *

It was the darkest hour of the night, just before the sunrise. The men in the camp were asleep in their tents or by the fire. Legolas was standing guard, as well as two other men. There was a slight breeze blowing, stirring a tent flap here or there. Legolas became accustomed to the sounds of the men and their camp. It was his elvish heritage that gave him the ability to perceive the slightest sounds that did not belong, a scrape or a rustle of something metal, a stone tumbling down the mountainside, a whisper that could easily be mistaken as the wind blowing. But there was one thing unmistakable to his heightened elvish senses, the pungent stench of orc.

Legolas looked to the other two guards. Neither one was alarmed. They had not smelled it yet. Legolas thought that if the orcs were close enough for him to smell them, then they must be close enough to see the camp. Slowly and without urgency, he strolled over to the man closest to him and whispered, “They are coming. Go warn the others, but do it quietly. Tell the men to arm themselves, but to look as if they are unaware of the threat. We want the orcs to think they can ambush the camp.”

The man nodded and walked unhurriedly into the camp. He began rousing the men from their sleep and relaying Legolas’ message. The elf went to the second guard on patrol and told him to go and inform Eomer. Then Legolas took up his place on a nearby boulder, and watched and listened for further movement, “Clumsy orcs,” he said to himself. To his sensitive ears, it sounded like a heard of horses coming down from the mountains. They were fooling no one.

The closer they got, the faster Legolas’ heart beat. This would be it, his first battle at the borders. How long had he trained for this moment? He was more than ready. His bow felt heavy in his hands. He reached back and felt the soft fletching of his arrows, quiver full. His twin long knives were securely sheathed at his back. Tonight he would solidify his place amongst the Rohirrim. He would spill blood, his first step to seeking revenge for the loss of his home and family.

Legolas jumped down from his lookout post, and casually strolled back to the camp. His ears were trained on the rocky crevices behind him. The orcs were there, waiting and watching for the right moment to attack. Legolas’ blood was singing. His hand gripped his bow tightly as he carried it by his side. It would not be long now.

At the camp, it was almost a hilarious sight. The men looked as though they slept. A few even went so far as to make snoring sounds. At a closer look, Legolas could see that they held their swords at their sides, ready to jump up and fight at a moment’s notice. As he walked along, he made whispering remarks to the men, advising them from which way the orcs were moving. Then he circled around, and found himself back at the bolder, pretending to make his rounds about the camp. He kept his back to the rocks and listened. Closer … closer still … just one more moment, a deep breath and—

Legolas raised his bow, nocked an arrow and spun around in one motion. Orcs were pouring into the camp from their hiding spots. He took down as many as he could, firing arrow after arrow while they were still at a distance. Seeing their comrades fall, the orcs spread out quickly and made their way around the edge of the men’s camp, but as they entered, they were surprised by the sudden movement of sleeping men. Swords in hand, each soldier jumped to his feet, and struck out at their unsuspecting enemy. The first of the orcs fell quickly. Now the camp was a battle ground, men against orcs, and an elf as an added advantage.

Metal struck metal all around him. Legolas stood on his boulder where he could shoot more orcs with his arrows, but they were beginning to surround him. He twisted left and then right, his bow singing from the released arrows, until something grabbed his ankle and knocked him off his feet. He managed to brace himself during the fall, and scrambled to stay upon the boulder, but he felt many hands grasping at his legs, pulling him down to the ground. Legolas kicked his feet, felt the crunch of a broken nose or jaw, and reached for his knives. It was so dark, he could barely make them out, but their yellowed eyes and fangs flashed above him. He was on his back, in the dirt and a swarm of orcs were crowding in on him. Legolas released an angered yell and thrust his knives upwards, slicing flesh and hitting bone as he did. The orcs seemed to part, and the elf could see the stars above in the sky. In one swift movement, he leapt to his feet, and quickly took in his surroundings. Most of the orcs were fighting within the camp. The men would take care of those, but three remained by Legolas, watching him, dancing around him as if to confuse him. Legolas remembered his training and his lessons on distractions. He kept his eyes on the orcs he could see, and his ears tuned in to the one he could not. He took his stance, knives flashing in each hand.

“Come on then, which one of you will be first?” he taunted.

An orc with metal rings attached to the bridge of his nose came at Legolas, the black blade of his scimitar slicing through the air. He moaned and grunted as he approached. Legolas bounced on his feet, and judged the actions of the slow moving orc. The ringed orc lunged forward and Legolas dodged the blade, spun around and thrust his twin blades into the orc’s back. The orc went ridged as Legolas pushed the blades further into his body, gave the knives a twist and waited for the creature to fall, sliding off the blades. Two left, he thought to himself, and glanced around to see where they were. The second orc seemed ready to take his turn, but the third one puzzled Legolas. He seemed to be waiting, studying the elf, and watching him in a most peculiar way. No time to give it much thought now, Legolas told himself, and he turned to his next challenger.

This creature was even uglier than the first. He looked as if he’d already seen plenty of battles. There were open gashes on the side of his neck, crusted over and oozing pus where they had broken open. The side of his head was covered with a metal plate, and looked as if it was screwed directly into his skull. He noticed Legolas looking at it and laughed, tapping the metal with a small dagger in his left hand, “I’ve got me protection,” he said in broken Westron.

“So have I,” Legolas countered as he raised his long knives and crossed the blades.

The orc threw the dagger at Legolas, making the elf crouch down to avoid a hit. While he was distracted, the orc took the scimitar from his dead ring-nosed friend, “Now I’ve got two blades too.”

They circled each other, blades at the ready, and Legolas waited for him to make the first move. The metal plated orc charged, swinging both black blades. Legolas was blocking the blows with his long knives, left then right then left again. As they fought, Legolas backed away towards a tree that he had noticed earlier. He led the orc along until he backed into the tree trunk. The orc paused and laughed, thinking he had the advantage. This time, when the metal-headed orc swung his weapon, Legolas did not strike back. Instead, he slid down the tree to the ground, and the orc’s blade sunk into the tree. While the creature tried to pull his scimitar free, Legolas thrust his long knife upwards and into the belly of the beast. The orc released the embedded blade and stumbled backwards, looking down at the white handle protruding from his belly, but he ignored it, and pulled it from his body. Black gore covered the elvish weapon and dripped from the tip. Legolas only had one knife now, and the orc had two again.

The creature coughed and laughed, “Didn’t think about that, did you?” He charged Legolas with both weapons.

Legolas countered, fighting against the scimitar and his own weapon, a very surreal scenario, he thought to himself. Even with the wound, the orc fought ferociously, and Legolas was beginning to feel the strain of the battle, countering two weapons at once. His advantage was knowing his own sword and its design, so when the orc swung the long knife again, Legolas managed to lock handles for a split second, long enough to gain the upper hand. The orc used his scimitar, swiping it in a downward motion as if to lop off the elf’s head. Legolas released his long knife, spun out of the way of the scimitar, and reached over his shoulder for the last arrow in his quiver. He had no bow. That was left behind when he fell from the boulder, and it was too far to get to now. Instead, he thrust the arrow up from below the orcs chin and forced it by hand until he was sure he had impaled the beast’s brain. The orc convulsed, dropped Legolas’ long knife along with the scimitar, and fell limp to the ground.

Legolas took a moment to catch his breath, collect his stolen knife and find his bearings, but he had not forgotten about the third orc. He looked up slowly, lifting his eyes towards his final challenger. An arrogant laugh drifted across their personal battleground, and the sound made Legolas’ blood run cold. The voice was familiar to him.

“Who are you?” Legolas asked.

“Ah, ye remember me then. Good, I was hoping ye would, ‘cos I sure remember you … a bit bigger than ye were then, but I see it in the eyes. The same scared look now as ye had then,” the orc said.

Legolas observed his enemy with a careful eye, “Are you one of the filth that destroyed Mirkwood?”

“Mirkwood?” the orcs said surprised, “Ai, haven’t thought of that in a long while, but no that’s not where I seen ye, though I was in Mirkwood.” The orc crossed his arms, and put his fingers to his chin, contemplating, “I would have liked to have gone down in that hole of a place, and exterminated those immortal rats me self, but alas I was up above having me own fun. Helped set the trees alight, I did. Maybe ye’d seen my contributions that night, aye? Lit the whole place up right fancy like,” the orc laughed to himself.

“Na, what I’m talkin’ ‘bout is that poor excuse of a village.” His voice lowered to a deep threatening tone, as his arms came back down to his sides, “That’s where I’d seen ye, boy, hidin’ behind that tree. Killed one of my friends, ye did. Eye fer an eye though, right? Ye took my friend, so I took that tall fella’ ye’s with that night. Had his back turned to me, he did. Didn’t even know what hit ‘im, but you did, didn’t ye. Ye saw me in the trees, and I saw ye’s too. And now look at ye, all grown up and earned yer armor.”

Legolas could feel himself seething with anger at the mention of Elhadron and Mirkwood, but he kept himself in check, “Eye for an eye, you say. Then it must me my turn, and here you are.”

The orc charged at Legolas, but the elf was ready with long knives crossed, blocking the first blow. The orc was relentless at first, and Legolas was not able to get any hits in, but patience was one of his best qualities. He let the orc make all the first moves in hopes of wearing him down. It seemed to be working, for the orc’s movements began to slow a bit. When he saw his opportunity, Legolas struck with such force that it sent the orc flying backwards, shocked by the pure strength of his elven opponent. The fighting commenced, and now Legolas was the dominant fighter. The orc was reduced to blocking, but he was also watching closely and waiting for Legolas to make a mistake. It happened when Legolas left himself unprotected for a spit second, and the orc brought his blade up to the side and swung forward, slicing through the leather of Legolas’ pants.

Instantly the burning of the wound spread from his knee, up towards the inside of his thigh. Legolas had been cut by the orc’s blade. He could feel the warmth of blood begin to spread beneath the leather pant leg. His movements dragged and the orc was once again on the offensive. Legolas fought through the stinging pain of his leg. There was no room for distraction, especially not injury. He moved with elvish grace, and anyone watching would never have known that the inside of his thigh had been split open. His twin blades began to catch the orange light of the rising sun. Dawn was upon them. The orcs would give up the fight soon, unable to tolerate the bright rays of morning’s light.

Legolas wondered how the fighting was going amongst the men. He had not been a part of the main battle since taking on this group of orcs. He could still hear the clash of metal, though it seemed less than before. He only hoped it was still the Rohirrim blades that were ringing, and not that of their enemy.

The orc seemed distracted by the rising sun and his attacks became more urgent. He was intent upon killing Legolas, and fleeing for the cover of the mountains, where he could slither back into the dark crevices and caves. Blades swung high and swooshed low. Both opponents wore armor and the injuries were contained to blunt jabs and bruising blows. Then their blades locked and they stood face to face. Legolas sacrificed half of his defenses by releasing one of his long knives and elbowing the orc in the face. The orc stumbled backwards, tripped and fell to the ground. Legolas was instantly over the orc, the tip of his blade at the black vulnerable throat. Rage filled the elf’s azure eyes. His breath heaved, and his heart struggled to keep up with the adrenaline that filled every part of his being.

The orc laughed under his hurried breath as he laid on the ground at the elf’s feet, “I have to … to say, elves always put up a fight. Should have … have liked it better had ye just turned your back like the other did.”

Legolas kicked the orc in his ribs and said through clenched teeth, “That was my uncle you killed … and my father who was slain within the palace, but there is still one wood elf left, and I will have my revenge.” He put his blade to the orcs throat and pressed until a trickle of blood appeared.

“You’ll not win this war, boy, and ye’ll end up rotting in the ground like the others. Kill me, and more will come, and then they shall pave the road to victory with the bodies of every last elf in the world,” the orc claimed. Then he laughed and snorted, coughing as he did, “Your uncle, aye? It was a pleasure watching me arrow disappear into his back. What did his face look like, I wonder? Oh, but you were there, and ye saw it all firsthand. Did he speak to ye, boy? Did he gurgle and gasp for breath? Was the pain evident upon his fucking face? Ai, I’d give me left arm to have seen his face. That’s the best part of killin’ elves, the look they give ye as the soul leaves. It’s always a surprise to ‘em.” The orc looked straight into Legolas’ eyes, “It’ll happen to ye too, boy, when some orcs black blade sticks ye in yer fucking heart, and ye realize that ye can’t live forever.”

Legolas felt his whole body begin to shake with anger. His hand trembled, and the end of his blade was unsteady against the orc’s neck. He knew this was part of the orc’s tactic to throw him off his guard, but he had the advantage, “The last thing you’ll remember is the cold steel of my blade as it slices your miserable neck, you bastard,” he said and brought his elbow back, preparing to jab his blade through the orc’s neck.

“Legolas!” Eomer shouted from somewhere behind.

Legolas heard his friend call him, but all he wanted was to end the orc’s wretched life. He pulled his arm back again, and called to Eomer without taking his eyes from his enemy, “He has to die, Eomer. He admitted to killing my uncle.”

“No, Legolas, we need him alive … for now,” Eomer ordered as he came to stand beside Legolas. Eomer kicked the orc several times, weakening him. At a closer look, Eomer became concerned, “Are you an orc of Mordor or of the mountains. Where do you hail from, and who sent you to Rohan?”

The orc laughed an evil cackle, “You offend me, young captain. Mordor and Moria breed an incapable unintelligent lot. I am of a new generation of orcs, and we follow a new master, not the Dark Lord, but one who promises us dominance over all others.”

Eomer looked at Legolas, but the elf would not look away from his captive. Then he looked back at the orc, “If not Sauron, then who do you follow?”

“Why, the White Hand, of course. Ye might have known that if ye took yer head out of your horse’s arse long enough to notice,” the orc answered insultingly, “He breeds a new army, my army, and under his reign we shall rule Middle-earth.” The orcs eyes settled on Legolas again, “And you’ll be my personal slave, boy. What fun it will be to break you. Too bad I killed your uncle, though. I would have enjoyed having him on his knees before me, sticking me cock down his miserable throat, but your young mouth will be much more of a pleasure once I—” The orcs words were cut off by Legolas’ blade sinking slowly into the orcs vocal chords.

“Legolas, no!” Eomer protested, “As your captain, I order you to—”

“You’ve found out all that he knows. Now he is mine,” Legolas growled, ignoring a direct order as his blade pushed deeper into the orcs throat. The creature’s gnarled black hands flailed about as he tried to grasp the sword and stop it, but it was no use. Legolas’ strength was much greater than the average man. No one could have stopped him from his mission. Finally, the orc’s body began to convulse and shake. A puddle spread out from beneath him where his bladder had given way.

“Feel every inch of my blade, you murdering bastard,” Legolas hissed. The orc gasped for air that would not come, as his throat was blocked off by the silver blade of the elvish long knife. Suffocation was inevitable.

Eomer was stunned to see this side of Legolas. A swift death would have been more justified, but the elf wanted to see the enemy struggle for one last breath, grasping on to every last inch of life, and then listen as the last of the air escaped the lungs through the hole in the black throat.

Eomer and Legolas stood looking down at the unmoving black shape. Eomer shook his head, “We could have held him captive, and forced more information from him.”

“He told you all he knew. You would not have gotten anything more from him,” Legolas answered dryly as he wiped his blade on the orc’s shirt.

“What makes you think that? And why did you go against my orders? I may be your friend, Legolas, but out here I am your captain,” Eomer demanded. He should have been furious, but the killing made Eomer remember his own hatred for those responsible for his mother and father’s deaths. He might not have behaved any differently had he had the intimacy of coming face to face with his own private foes. In fact, he would have been just as lethal and brutish, if not more. Justice had in fact been served.

“I know because of something he said. He was involved in the burning of Mirkwood’s forest, not in the raid upon the palace. He was nothing more than a low ranking soldier. He would have known nothing but that he followed the commands of the White Hand.” Legolas turned to Eomer and caught his eye, “The White Hand, Eomer … not the White Wizard or Saruman. He would have claimed his master by name had he been any higher in ranks.”

Eomer turned from Legolas and whistled. Two of his men came running up, “Dispose of this filth. Let the vultures have him.”

The soldiers started to reach for the orcs arms and legs, to lift him and carry him off, when suddenly the body began to move and gurgle. The men dropped him, shocked to see that he was still alive. Without a moment’s thought, Legolas raised his blade above his head, and with a primal yell, brought his weapon down with such force that the orc’s head came clean off, and rolled a few feet from the body. The men were stunned as they watched the head wobble before it finally came to rest. Eomer looked at Legolas with surprise by his quick reflexes and strength, but Legolas just shrugged his shoulders, “For Elhadron,” he whispered, and looked towards the direction of Isengard, where Saruman ruled, “And next will be for Mirkwood.”

Eomer gave Legolas a hard slap on the shoulder and shook his head, “Welcome to the war, Legolas.”

As the two friends started to walk away, Eomer noticed Legolas’ limp, and threw an arm around his friend, “Let’s get you to the healer.”

“Ai,” said Legolas, flinching and finally giving in to his injuries, “Good idea.”

The wound was cleaned and bandaged. Legolas was lucky not to have been poisoned. He would heal quickly. Eomer and his troops followed out their orders. More orcs attacked, but Rohan did not falter. Eomer and Legolas were eager to get this new information about Saruman back to Théodred, but they did not trust a messenger to deliver it. This was something they wanted to do themselves once they had rejoined the rest of Rohan’s armies, and Théodred. At least, now they knew from where their enemy ruled. It was a shock to learn that it was someone King Théoden had considered a friend. Now it was a matter of figuring out how to approach Isengard and put a stop to the madness, with or without Théoden’s approval.


	20. Keeping House

After a few months stationed near Aldburg, Eomer was finally leading his army back to Edoras. There had been more battles since that night at the camp, always with orcs. The enemy’s soldieries were always small in numbers, and the Rohirrim had successfully held their ground, defeating the orcs, but the attacks were constant, and it wore on the men after a while.

As they made their way back to Edoras, Théodred and his men joined them, returning from the Fords of Isen. The Prince informed Eomer that they were met with the same kind of attack formations from the orcs, small manageable groups, but constant invasion that battered his men.

“First thing is to inform the King of Saruman’s treachery,” Eomer said as he rode alongside his cousin.

“I’ve already sent word, along with orders to send some of the blacksmiths back to Edoras as we discussed,” Théodred informed, “I fear that Saruman’s forces are greater than we first thought. The city is vulnerable, and we must prepare.”

“What of your father? He will not be so pleased that you have made decisions without conferring with him first.”

“To speak with my father is to speak with Grima. I’m afraid our loyalty lies with each other and Rohan, as the King is too heavily influenced,” Théodred said as solemnness fell upon him, “I wish I knew what to do to help free my father’s will.”

* * *

As soon as they arrived in Edoras, Théodred and Eomer were met by the King’s guards, and told to come right away to discuss their findings. Legolas joined them, eager to tell Théoden about the orc’s admission of Saruman’s efforts in this latest war. He could not wait to see Grima’s face when he finally told him what he knew. Wormtongue’s silence would speak louder than any outgoing response.

Théodred, Eomer and Legolas entered the King’s quarters, and were dumbfounded at the sight that met them. Théoden looked old and withered, weakened to the point of death it seemed.

“Father,” Théodred whispered out of shock and went to his side, kneeling next to Théoden where he sat in his chair. His son took his hand and found it cold, his strength depleted. Théoden’s head was bowed, his chin resting on his chest. His hair was a tussled mess of gray, grown long and unkempt. 

Théodred’s touch had roused the King slightly, and he attempted to turn his head and see the Prince, “M-my s-son,” he murmured, but then a moan escaped his lips, and he could say nothing more.

Eomer stood by, his heart breaking for his cousin and himself. The King of Rohan, a man of great strength and power, was reduced to a weak and elderly man, barely able to speak. Eomer’s fingers curled into fists as he watched Grima enter the room and stand at Théoden’s side. His eyes narrowed on the advisor, “You slimy worm, what have you done to him?” Eomer accused.

“What have I done?” Grima retorted, “I’ve done nothing but wait on the King hand and foot as he sits here and frets over the loyalty of his son and his sister-son.” Grima waited and watched as Théodred and Eomer regarded each other, “Oh yes, don’t think we did not find out about your orders to send the blacksmith’s back to Edoras. You have disobeyed a directive by the King, overridden his original orders and assumed command while the throne is still occupied. That could easily be considered treason, and I could have both of you sent to the cells.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Théodred seethed.

“Look at your father. Look at his condition. He is like this because of you, because of your disloyalty, and your betrayal to the throne. You, his only son, scouring the lands and rousing the enemy,” Grima alleged.

Legolas took a step forward, and Grima scowled, “Rousing the enemy? Is that what you think this is? We have been protecting the King, keeping Rohan safe, saving even your conniving arse. These are not orcs of Mordor or Moria. They are Isengarders, sent by Saruman.”

Grima stepped away from Théoden, and circled Legolas at a distance, coming to stand next to Théodred, “Saruman has ever been a friend of Rohan and of the King. Théoden has counseled with him on many occasions. To have you stand here and accuse a High Wizard of such a crime is blasphemy, and I will not stand for it.”

Legolas moved suddenly, and Grima cowered away from him, but the elf reached for a pack that he’d brought with him. From it, he retrieved a grimy piece of cloth with a faded but still visible white hand painted upon it. He threw it at Grima, who dodged the smelly wretched thing. Legolas glowered at him, “I took this off of the last orc I killed as proof. They follow Saruman’s commands. Your ‘friend’, as you put it, wishes to see Rohan taken over by orcs. He’s been growing this army right under your nose.”

Grima took a poker from the hearth, picked up the dirty cloth, and tossed it into the fire, “If orcs come from Isengard, then it must mean they have seized Orthanc. There is no telling what has happened to Saruman,” Grima said sadly, as though he’d lost a dear friend. Then he rounded on Legolas, finding some bit of courage against the elf, “Lies, all lies I say. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it now. The elves cannot be trusted. They have no loyalty but to their own. I say it is you who deceives us, and tries to turn Rohan against Saruman.” He glanced to Théodred and Eomer, “What spell have you cast upon them to make them believe you? That is probably your own hand that you imprinted upon the cloth.”

Théoden mumbled something from his comatose state and Grima rushed to him, leaning down to offer his ear. Legolas saw the King’s lips move, but even his acute hearing could not make out any words. He looked to Théodred and Eomer, and though they seemed angry with Grima, they regarded Legolas with a bit of ambiguity. It felt very familiar to him, like the look that Lúta had given him before she left and broke his heart.

Then, Eomer shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, “No, Legolas is not lying. These are Isengarders sent by Saruman.”

Théodred went to stand next to Legolas, “We know who it is we have been fighting for all these months. Saruman has changed his position and seeks to destroy Rohan. I will not stand by and let this evil roam freely across my country. It is the reason I overruled my father’s command, and called the blacksmith’s back to the city. War is coming. Edoras shall not fall due to your futile policies.”

The atmosphere was becoming charged with animosity towards Grima, and he seemed to change his attitude quickly as he stood away from Théoden. He pulled his black cloak tightly around him before he spoke, “Though you could all be arrested for treason, the King has decided to give you another chance to prove your loyalty. Your orders are as stands; Théodred will return with his armies to the West, and Eomer to the East. You will patrol your stations only and keep the enemy at bay. Neither of you will abandon your charge unless ordered by the King. You will send word of any attacks, at which time King Théoden will decided if further reinforcements are required. Is this understood?”

Théodred glanced at Eomer and then Legolas, each one coming to a common conclusion. Now was not the time to make a stand. Finally, Théodred spoke, “We will abide, my King,” he said looking directly at his father, who stared down at his lap, oblivious to what was taking place.

“We only ask for a slight reprieve before returning. Our men need time to rejuvenate with their families first,” Théodred continued.

Grima nodded arrogantly, “Very well, you have a week’s time to yourselves. Then you will be off to perform your duties.”

Théodred gave a quick tip of his head to Eomer and Legolas, signaling for them to leave. Silently, they left Théoden’s quarters, and then exited Meduseld altogether. Once they were far enough away, they spoke of the situation.

“Why do you suppose Grima is so insistent against Saruman’s involvement,” Eomer asked.

“Perhaps he wants Edoras for himself,” Legolas said.

Théodred shook his head, “No, there are too many in line for the throne … me, Eomer, even Eowyn would rule before Grima. And then there’s Grimbold and Elfhelm.” He paused and shook his head in denial, “No, he has ulterior motives. It is not the throne he wants,” he said thinking.

Legolas ran his hand through his hair, unable to look at his friends directly, “It is Eowyn that he wants.”

“What?” Théodred and Eomer said in unison.

“Don’t you see?” Legolas said, “Grima himself cannot be appointed to the throne, but through marriage—”

“That slimy bastard,” Eomer muttered. “I’ll kill him if he so much as touches a hair on my sister’s head.”

“We won’t let that happen, Eomer,” Théodred said reassuringly, “but we have to keep up a front for now. I can’t help feeling that Grima is in cohorts with Saruman. The White Wizard can be very cunning, and though he has been a friend to Rohan, I’ve never completely trusted him.”

As the three friends walked along the cobblestone path, talking quietly amongst themselves, they noticed a few people stretching an ear or gawking as they passed. Théodred shushed them, “We need to take a few days and not draw attention to ourselves. Let’s just use this time to rest and regroup our efforts. In a few days, we’ll meet and I’ll have some kind of plan.” Théodred put a hand on Eomer’s shoulder, “Nothing will happen to Eowyn as long as she stays close to Théoden. Even in his decrepit state, Grima would not try anything foolish in front of the King.”

“She’s already set aside her shield maiden training to take over upkeep of Meduseld, and she’s been a bear to be around since then. That reason alone would make it unwise to cross her,” Eomer commented.

“I didn’t know about this,” Legolas said concerned, “That is all she’s ever talked about since I’ve come to Rohan.”

“It is all she’s ever talked about since she first learned about the shield maiden society,” Eomer said, and shook his head as he gave a snort, “Father used to discourage her. He would not have let her do it in the first place, but I saw the fire in her eyes. I saw it the day she was born, though I was young myself. I can’t say as I blame my father though. He worried about her and her future, and when he died it fell upon me to worry for her, and I must admit that I am somewhat comforted that she has been relieved of her duty.” Eomer paused and looked around, as though he’d find his sister standing behind him, arms crossed and tapping an agitated foot. “She would hate me for saying it, but that’s how I feel. I’d rather she bit my head off than to see her in harm’s way.”

Legolas laughed and admired the special bond that brother and sister shared, even when they weren’t in each other’s company, “Would you like me to speak to her? Maybe I can help ease her perturbed manner so that you may keep your head.”

Eomer shrugged his shoulders, “I’m not so sure there is anything you can say to help, but if you are glutton for punishment, then by all means, have at it and good luck, my friend.”

* * *

It had been almost a week since the three friends returned to the city. Each one attended to their own duties, and brought as little attention to them as possible. To be certain, there were spies within Edoras, cohorts who reported to Grima. Théodred, Eomer and Legolas would be watched.

On this particular morning, Legolas was resting in his room after a night well spent with one of the maids. One of Prince Théodred’s messengers interrupted his slumber with an annoying knock on the door. He had been informed that the Prince requested his attendance for an early morning meeting.

They would be leaving soon, back to the borders. Legolas wondered where he would go, with Eomer back to the east or with Théodred to defend the Fords of Isen. He hoped for the latter. He hadn’t spent much time with Théodred lately, and he had yet to serve under the Second Marshall’s command—not to mention that the orcs would be more abundant in the west. His palms itched for the feel of his bow and long knives.

Legolas was passing through the main hall of Meduseld, on his way to meet with Théodred when, to his delight, he saw Eowyn, busy with her new responsibilities of keeping proper her uncle’s house. He had almost forgotten to speak with her about her confined situation, and now seemed as good a time as any. He would not be needed at the meeting for a few minutes yet.

She was standing on top of one of the tables, pointing and giving orders. A young boy of about seven or eight was at the top of a wooden ladder that leaned against the far wall. He was on his toes, stretching as far as he could to reach a tapestry that covered one of the windows. The rickety ladder vibrated as the boy’s knees shook. He was obviously not very fond of heights.

“And lower that one, Gellír, so that we can have more light shining in through the windows,” Eowyn commanded from her perch atop the table.

Legolas approached Eowyn with his warmest smile, but she was deep into her work, and only gave him a nod. She didn’t want to take her eyes off of the boy for too long, in case he started to fall. Legolas leapt onto the table with the simple ease of the elves, crossed his arms, and brought his fingers to his chin mockingly, “A little more to the right, wouldn’t you say?” he taunted.

Eowyn ignored him, and waved her hand in the direction of the old hangings, “You have no idea how dusty and dirty it is in here. No one’s been given orders to clean in months, and I figured as long as I’m stuck here, I might as well take control of matters and get this place in shape,” she complained.

“Well, it’s definitely warmer in here. It’s nice to see the hearth alight once again. And with the windows uncovered, it’s not as dark and drab.” He paused as he watched the boy struggle with the tapestry, “Though I’m not quite sure you should let him be up there.”

“No one else would do it,” Eowyn said, her eyes glued to the youth, “The servants refuse, and I could not find Audwyn this morning.”

Legolas felt himself flush, knowing he was the reason for the maid’s absence. Luckily, Eowyn was too busy watching the boy that she did not see the tips of his inflamed ears.

Suddenly, the boy’s foot slipped, and he caught himself. He let out a whimper as he regained his footing. Eowyn gasped and threw her arms out as if to catch him should he start to fall again. Legolas, who had seen enough, jumped down from the table, and went to the foot of the ladder. He looked up and called to the boy. “Aye, Gellír, come on down from there before you break your neck.”

“But I was asked by the Lady Eowyn to do this task,” the boy called back, resuming his struggle to reach the tapestry and release it from the wall. He was a determined youth. Stubborn was more like it, Legolas thought to himself.

“I’m ordering you to come down,” Legolas said sternly. The boy did as he was told, and glared at the elf when he was safely on the ground.

“Do I still get my money?” Gellír reached his small dusty hand out to Legolas, who turned around to see Eowyn laughing behind her hand covering her mouth. Legolas rounded on the boy.

“And just how much did she promise you?” Legolas asked, as he put his hands on his hips.

“Three silver bits,” the boy answered proudly.

“Three?” Legolas exclaimed.

Eowyn gasped, “It was not three. It was only one. Why, I should put you over my knee for telling a fib.”

Legolas got down on one knee so that he was eye level with the boy, “You know what happens to children who tell lies, don’t you?” he whispered. The boy shook his head and Legolas continued, “The wargs can hear when a child lies. They keep count you know and once you reach a certain amount, they come for you, steal you away, and … well, I am not sure what they do after that, but it cannot be pleasant.”

Gellír’s mouth dropped in shock, but a humorous twinkle in the elf’s eye gave him away. “I’ve heard lots of stories, but never this one. You made that up,” the boy accused.

Legolas rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. “You can’t blame me for trying. Now listen, no more lying or I will know it. Elves cannot lie, but even more so, we can tell when someone else is, and if I catch you in another one, you’ll be wishing it were a warg that came for you. Understood?”

The boy nodded, and Legolas reached into his tunic, pulling out one small silver coin. He put it in the boy’s hand and then looked curiously at his ear. “Wait a minute, what’s this?” Legolas reached for his ear, pulled on his earlobe, making Gellír wince and produced a second coin. The elf smiled and handed it to him, “Seems like you had one stuck in your ear. Must be your lucky day.” He ruffled the boy’s hair and stood.

The boy smiled wide and gazed at Legolas, “I was right. Elves are magical. Wait until I tell my sister. She didn’t believe me.” He took off like a fox down the hall, but stopped half way and turned back. “Thanks Legolas,” he shouted before darting through the doors.

Legolas watched him leave, chuckling to himself, and turned to see Eowyn with her arms crossed, eyebrow raised and tapping her foot. Eomer was right, he thought to himself. She did stand that very way when she was perturbed.

“You shouldn’t encourage him. He’s been in enough trouble already—caught stealing fruit from one of the street venders, and recently he snuck into the horse pastures, and left the gate open for the horses to get out. His mother was at her wits end, and sent him here to put him to work, hoping to straighten him out.”

He approached Eowyn who was still standing on the table, glaring at him. “Ai, he’s young yet. He’ll learn.” Legolas held his hand out to her, offering to help her down.

“And you have just rewarded him for his bad behavior,” she said reminding him of the two silver piece Legolas gave the boy.

Legolas just shrugged his shoulders and smiled infectiously up at her. Eowyn shook her head, but could not help let a smile escape her lips. Her hand rested in his, and he guided her down from the table. Then he went to the ladder and started to climb.

“What are you doing?” Eowyn called to him.

“You want that tapestry moved don’t you?” he called back, as he was already half way up the ladder.

“Legolas, please be careful. I wouldn’t want you to … AAGH!” she screamed. He looked as if he lost his footing on one of the rungs, and slipped down grabbing at the ladder with both hands, but he caught himself, or so it seemed. The mischievous look he gave her said that he was only pretending, further angering Eowyn, “That was not funny,” she shouted, “Fooling around like that will only cause you to fall to your death.”

He gave her a ridiculous smile that stretched from ear to ear as he crossed his ankles and put a hand on one hip, hanging precariously from the ladder, “Don’t you know that elves always land on their feet?” he joked before he finished climbing to the top.

“The same can be said about cats, but it would make no difference if they should fall from a great height. It doesn’t matter what you land on, something’s going to break.” she retorted.

“Have you ever seen a cat with a broken leg?” he asked.

“Well, no but—”

“Need I say more?” he replied as he clambered up the ladder again. Legolas reached for the tapestry easily with his tall form and long arms, “Where do you want this?”

“Below the window and even with the other hangings,” she directed.

Legolas did as she said, finding a hook right about where she wanted it. Eowyn called to him to straighten it. When it was where she wanted it, Legolas stopped a moment before climbing back down, observing the picture of a beautiful woman with reddish blond hair, common among the Rohirrim. He carefully came back down the ladder, and dusted his hands on his pants. “You are right about the dirt. It must be as thick as a slice of quick bread up there.”

Eowyn laughed and he smiled. It was good to hear it. There wasn’t much laughter around the hall lately. Legolas pointed up at the tapestry, “Who is she?”

A smile remained on Eowyn’s face as she gazed with proud eyes at the picture, “That is my mother. Isn’t she beautiful? Théodwyn was her name, and sister to my uncle. My mother was the most loving woman I’ve ever known. She was also the bravest. If it weren’t for her, Eomer and I might not be here. She sacrificed her life to keep us safe.” Her smile turned to a frown as she remembered something that only she and Eomer saw, “She killed one of the orcs before they took her life. I know it was her. I saw her dagger protruding from its body next to the door in the bedroom floor.” Eowyn paused as she stared at her mother’s face. The sorrow and terror slowly faded into admiration, “She had a warrior’s spirit, though she was never allowed to pursue it.”

Legolas turned to see Eowyn’s face, recognizing that same determined look as the woman in the tapestry, “Eowyn, you should not be stuck in here day after day taking care of things that Théoden should be doing. You should be amongst the shield maidens training.” He was surprised to hear himself say this, but he found that he could not agree with Eomer’s concerns for his sister. Eowyn was strong and determined enough to take care of herself. She always had come across that way to him.

Eowyn turned her eyes to the floor, “I can’t Legolas. There is no one else to oversee things now. This is where I’m needed. My uncle grows weaker every day. Have you seen him recently? He seems to have aged incredibly. He no longer goes out of his home to check on his men. Instead, he rules from his private quarters signing parchments, Grima always at his side. He has made so many changes and few of them make sense to me. It is up to me now, to take care of his house and him in the best way I know how. I love my uncle very much. I can’t abandon him now. He needs me.”

This was quite a personal sacrifice she was making, Legolas thought. Still, he felt she deserved a chance to become a female warrior. If not, it would be such a waste. Legolas stepped around to face Eowyn, taking her hands in his, “Then let me train you.”

“What?” she laughed nervously, “Train me how?”

“In the ways of battle of course. I can teach you everything you would learn with the women. You already have your weapons. I can work with you and keep you sharp,” he said enthusiastically.

“Oh, well I don’t know, Legolas. We are both so busy, and soon you’ll be serving another tour on the borders.”

“When I am home I’ll meet with you once a day or however often we can spare.” He stopped and gestured to the tapestry, “The fire and determination that you saw in your mother . . .” He captured her chin in his fingers, “You have it also, Eowyn, and like it or not I think that skill will be needed. There is a change in the air … in the trees. War will come. I can feel it. We will all need to be ready for that day. Every one of us will be needed to fight.” 

Eowyn shivered as she listened to Legolas’ warning. Who better than an elf would know of eminent danger? “Alright then, I’ll agree to your terms. Once a day or as often as we can spare … starting as soon as you get back.”

Legolas smiled, “As my lady wishes.”

Just then, Audwyn passed through the hall. Legolas’ attention was diverted to the young woman with her honey blonde hair and slim frame. She did her best not to notice him, but that was about as easy as ignoring an oliphant in a field of daisies. His eyes followed her until she tilted her head to the side and acknowledged his presence. He watched her with a hungry stare making her blush as she smiled at him, batting her long lashes. Eowyn could have sworn she heard a low growl emanate from him and glanced as she watched the interaction between these two. Audwyn touched her hand to her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear and exposing her neck. Eowyn’s eyebrows shot up in surprise when she saw the red mark on the side of her neck. Legolas had seen it too, and smiled as he watched Audwyn disappear down the corridor.

Eowyn turned to Legolas, arms crossed and glaring, “You two know each other, I presume?”

Legolas was still watching the doorway, “Oh yes, quite well.”

“She must be the reason that I have not seen much of you this week,” Eowyn said accusingly.

“She is one of the reasons. The other two reasons work at the mead hall,” he smiled arrogantly.

Eowyn gasped, “Legolas, three women in one week? You are going to get yourself in trouble.”

“Well, that’s part of the fun now isn’t it? Besides, no one is being harmed.”

She raised an accusing eyebrow in his direction. “Oh no? And I suppose that blemish on Audwyn’s neck will not harm her reputation?”

“It’s merely a love bite. Besides, you should see the mark she left on me,” he jested as he reached for the laces of his trousers.

Eowyn gasped and scrunched her eyes shut, “No! No! I don’t want to know anymore,” she protested.

Legolas laughed heartily. It had always been too easy to agitate Eowyn, and he enjoyed doing it from time to time. He watched as she carefully opened one eye, and met her with his warmest most charming smile reserved only for Eowyn, “I promise not to torture you with any more details as long as you stay out of my private life. Now, I must be on my way or your cousin will have me flogged.” He turned to leave, but stopped when she called to him.

“Um, Legolas?”

“Yes.”

“Would you mind going back up the ladder? You’ve sent my helper away and the tapestry is tilted just slightly to the right.”

Legolas rolled his eyes and laughed before he scuttled up the ladder once more.

* * *

“Where have you been?” Eomer asked when Legolas finally joined his friends at the stables where they were to have their meeting. He should have been here earlier, but he was delayed.

“I was helping Eowyn with something,” Legolas replied.

“That was your first mistake,” Eomer corrected, “Once she gets you involved , she doesn’t let go easily.”

“I was happy to help,” Legolas said with a reminiscent smile, “I’ve always held a soft spot in my heart for Eowyn.”

Eomer arched a questioning brow, but Legolas held his hand up to stop his friend from saying anything, “She is like a sister to me. You know my feelings for her do not go any deeper. Besides, I am not in pursuit of anything that involves the heart.”

Théodred threw an arm around each of his friends, and wedged his way between them, “From what I hear, you are only pursuing that which involves places much lower than the heart. Really, Legolas, you’ve stolen the twins out from under us? That is all the men look forward to when they gather at the mead hall. It certainly isn’t the ale.”

The twins he was speaking of were a pair of identical sisters who were bar maids at the tavern. They were both very saucy, and kept the men on their toes with their bantering. They were also admired for their cheeky comments, but they were careful not to let any behavior go further than flirting. That was, until Théodred caught Legolas walking the sisters home late one evening after their shift was through at the tavern.

“A girl on each arm and his smile wider than the Great River … that’s how he looked when I spied him,” Théodred said.

“Really?” Eomer said astonished, “Both of them … together?”

“Of course not,” Legolas protested as he pushed Théodred’s arm from his shoulder and separated from his friends, “What kind of elf do you take me for?” He stopped and adjusted his collar, “One at a time . . .” A devious smile crossed his face, “. . . while the other sister watched.”

“You lie,” Eomer accused after a long silence.

“He can’t lie, he’s an elf. But he can stretch the truth,” Théodred said.

Théodred and Eomer watched Legolas with narrowed eyes, and waited for him to respond to the accusation that things hadn’t actually gone the way he had described. However, Legolas wasn’t one to go into too many details. Instead, he pointed to a rolled up parchment that Théodred held tucked under his arm, “What have you got there? I suppose it has something to do with our plans.”

Théodred and Eomer looked at each other as if to say they would find out all the details of Legolas’ liaison later. Then Théodred cleared away hay on the floor, making a spot to lay out his map. The three friends sat down on the floor of an empty stall. It had been the time of day when there was hardly any traffic in the royal stable. The morning’s work had been accomplished and the horses were settled for a little while. This was the best place for them to speak without worry of Grima eavesdropping on their conversation. The old worm hated horses and would not go near the stable. As for his spies, Legolas’ expert sense of character had already figured out who they were and where. None of them seemed to frequent the stables, so they thought they were safe.

Théodred unrolled the map, which displayed a number of marks and lines indicating areas of activity, and from which direction the orc group had come from. Eomer added his own findings to the map with a bit of charcoal he’d picked up along the way. A route soon became apparent. The orcs were definitely coming from Isengard, and some were walking freely and unchallenged across parts of Rohan’s open plains.

“So I think if we start patrolling these areas,” Eomer said as he pointed to the map, “We can cut them off, and diminish their numbers before they begin to assault these villages here.”

“Good,” Théodred said with a nod, “And I want you to divide your men into two groups. Take to patrolling here and here,” he said pointing. “As for me and my men, we will remain stationed here. I fear leaving the river unprotected at the Fords, but I will send some of my men out to see to other areas.” He turned to Legolas then, as though he regretted what he was about to ask, “I suppose the biggest sacrifice I am asking for is from you, my friend. As much as we need your warrior skill out on the plains, I would ask that you not return with Eomer and me. I think you will be much more needed here in the city.”

Théodred looked to Eomer, and allowed his cousin to continue for him, “Théo and I both discussed this, and we feel your elvish intuitiveness could come in handy. While we are away on patrol, things seem to deteriorate a little more at home. We need you to be the eyes and ears of Edoras. You know who follows Grima and who does not, and any information you can obtain will help the overall cause. So, will you stay, Legolas?”

Legolas nodded, “I swore an oath to go where I am needed most, so I will stay.”

With their meeting concluded and their plans laid out, Théodred folded up his map and tucked it safely inside his coat. He got to one knee and placed a hand on the shoulder of each friend, bowed his head and spoke, “I sometimes think I ask too much of the both of you. What I am doing could be considered treason. Eomer and I are betraying my father’s orders by dividing the armies and roaming the plains. Legolas, I ask you not to fight, though I understand the pain that drives you into war. You have both accepted without question, putting your trust in me. There is much to lose if we don’t see this through, and maybe I am being selfish by asking this of you.”

Théodred stood and walked away, but Legolas and Eomer went to him, one on each side of the Prince. Eomer spoke first, “I love my uncle, you know this. He has taken me in, given me more than I probably deserve. He has treated Eowyn and me as his son and daughter, as if we are of his own flesh. But I also love my country. I am proud of my people. My allegiance is to them. We are doing what is best for Rohan right now. Théoden will see this when he is better, I’m sure.”

After a pause, Legolas spoke, “I am not of Rohan, not family, nor am I even human, but like Eomer, I am honored to have had this opportunity. This country is young compared to elven realms or even Gondor, yet what you have accomplished in such a short period is astounding. There is nowhere else I would rather be. The Rohirrim are the closest thing to family that I have or may ever have. I will not see your successes and achievements demolished. We will stand strong and fight against anything or anyone that would do us harm. I am proud to serve you, Théodred. You are my prince, my captain, my friend above all else, and I will do whatever you ask of me without question.”

Théodred turned and the three friends clasped forearms as they stood in a tight circle. They rested their heads against each other and closed their eyes, making a silent bond to each other, “For Rohan,” Théodred finally uttered.

“For Rohan,” Eomer and Legolas answered in unison.

Today, the three friends solidified their alliance, and made a promise to each other and to Rohan. No shift in the wind, no darkening of days could break this vow. Each one would do their part in the West, in the East and in Edoras. For now, their people were safe and they could only pray for what the future held. Nothing would break their pledge, least death take them. Then they would know they did everything in their power to make it right, to keep their country strong through their sacrifice. Still, they prayed it would not come down to that and in the end, the three friends would stand together in victory.


	21. The Blacksmith

Grima sat alone in his room, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the horse ring that he wore on his right index finger. For years now, he had been slowly and methodically poisoning King Théoden, waiting for this very day, the day when he would begin to take over Rohan. He had sent one of his henchmen to retrieve a letter from the White Wizard Saruman. He was expecting the man to return today, if all had gone well.

With the poisoning, Théoden had become lethargic and clueless to anything happening in his kingdom. When his attention was needed, Grima consulted the King, telling the old man what he wanted him to know, twisting truths and bending the will of the elderly King towards Grima’s own black thoughts. No order went out without Grima first deciding what to do. Then he would whisper his ideas into Théoden’s ear, making the King think these were his own choices. Now Grima waited patiently for word from Saruman, and then he would execute his next plan.

Finally, at midday the messenger arrived, knocking on Grima’s door. “Come!” he called, and a lanky dark haired young man came into the room. He wore the usual messenger’s attire, brown leathers, long white tunic and a leather vest with the emblem of Rohan embroidered upon the chest. He did not fit the common robust look of a Rohir, but that was because he was from the west most edges of the Riddermark. He had come from a poor farming family, and with the recent droughts, they were in fear of losing their land. He moved to Edoras to find work, and send the money home. In his desperate need, he was easily persuaded into joining Grima who promised him there was plenty of money to be made so long as he kept his mouth shut, and did whatever he was told, no questions asked.

The young man approached Grima, and handed him the sealed parchment, which he had kept safely tucked inside his vest. Grima studied the yellowed paper, and then sniffed it just to be sure. Yes, it was from Orthanc. There was no mistaking the musty smell of the wizard’s quarters, and the scent of incense he kept burning as a ritual to help ward off offending spirits. Grima ran a bony finger over the wax seal, the sign of Saruman … a hand embossed in white wax. He started to open it, forgetting about his present company. The young man still stood in the doorway, waiting for payment for a job well done. Grima rolled his eyes and reached into a black velvet pouch that lay on his desk. He took out two silver coins and tossed them to the messenger. The boy looked at them carefully, flipping them over in the palm of his hand. It was a decent amount for such an easy task, but not enough to keep his family from losing their home. He started to leave and turned to Grima. “Is there nothing else you require of me?” he asked tentatively. 

Grima glared at the young man. He was ready to yell at him, and order him to leave before he changed his mind and took the money back, but then he thought that there might be one more errand for the messenger to run. Grima gestured to the coins in the young man’s hand, “Is that not enough? It is what you were promised.”

“Oh, it will help, sir,” the young man answered, “But if you require anything more, I would gladly do it.”

Grima walked towards him, circled around like a vulture investigating a possible meal, and stopped in front of him. “What is it that you need this money for, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“It’s for my family, sir. They need it for their farm. The drought … you know.”

Fool, Grima thought to himself. If they only knew what was in store for the future of Rohan, they would not care about saving their land. It was likely that they would all be slaughtered by orcs or by Wildsmen. Still, Grima could not divulge any information, and the boy was eager to work. It seemed such a waste of coin to give it to the youth, but Grima needed his help.

Grima raised an eyebrow, “Actually, there is something else I might have you do for me, depending on the contents of this letter. First, go fetch the three door guards and bring them here.”

The young man bowed his head, and quickly left the room. When Grima was finally alone, he broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter. It was indeed from Saruman himself. It was blank except for five words; five very important words that Grima knew meant everything planned was underway. Upon the stiff yellow paper, written in black ink in a neat manuscript, it said, “Take care of the elf.” Then beneath that was a larger letter ‘S’. Grima smiled, and his crooked yellow teeth gleamed wickedly in the small bit of sunlight coming from a split in the thick curtains drawn across his windows. The day was finally here, to rid himself and Rohan of this pest.

Grima had wanted to send Legolas away ever since first seeing the elf. The man hated the elves, and did not trust any of them, but none more than Legolas, and especially since the elf had remained in Edoras instead of patrolling the borders. Grima knew Théodred and Eomer must have been involved in this decision. The one thing the eccentric man had to count on was the elf’s need to fight. With Legolas out of the city, it guaranteed that Grima could move freely, as well as his followers. Now that Legolas remained behind, Grima felt somewhat on edge. The elf followed him, and his eyes were always watching every move the advisor made. The old worm had to plan his moves carefully, always looking over his shoulder, and feeling quite paranoid.

Most of all, Legolas watched over Eowyn like one of the great Eagles watching over its offspring. Grima hardly had a chance to speak with her. He knew if he could spend any amount of time with her, he could sway her with his words. Grima remembered doing the same thing to Lúta. The feeling was overwhelming. The power he held over her was intoxicating. The girl believed anything he had told her, and then those dark thoughts lay hidden just beneath her conscious mind. Grima imagined how good it would feel to have that effect on Eowyn, and bend her mind and will towards his black heart.

Grima had been about to give in to his deviant daydreaming, but the elf never left him alone, even now. Legolas was the only thing that stood between Grima and his final plans to control Théoden, Edoras and eventually Eowyn. With the elf gone, he could move about more easily, and not be constantly looking over his shoulder.

“Watching,” hissed Grima to himself, “Always watching me, he is. I can hardly do anything without his eye on me. He thinks he is collecting information for those two unworthy brats, thinks they will all come down on me and destroy my plans. I have my own plans though, and my lord has just given me permission to carry them out,” he laughed evilly, “First, I’ll get rid of the elf. Saruman has plans for the King’s son. When the time is right, he will strike. The White Wizard’s reach knows no bounds. Eomer will be all that’s left … easy to do away with by then. With Théoden under my control, the elf gone, and the city in mourning for their prince, Edoras will fall right into my hands.”

There was a knock on the door, which was still slightly ajar, and the messenger returned with the door guards. They were Grima’s men, stationed at the main entrance to Meduseld where they could keep a watchful eye on all who entered. Now, they stood to the side and awaited instructions.

Grima reached into his pouch and took out two more silver coins. The boy’s face lit up, but fell slightly when he only received one of the coins. Grima put a cold hand on his shoulder and drew him to the door. “You’ll get one now for bringing the guards, and one more if you complete another task.”

“Yes, of course sir. What shall you have me do?” the young man asked anxiously.

“Do you know of the blacksmith called Róta?” he asked and the boy nodded. “Give a message for me and make sure no one sees you. Just tell her that the meal is ready.”

“Do you not have written correspondence to send?” the young man asked. Up until now, Grima had never requested an oral message, and he found this odd.

“Nothing in writing this time,” Grima answered, “I will not risk anyone seeing a note, and I expect you not to relay this to anyone but Róta.”

The messenger gave Grima a strange look, but he knew better than to ask questions and he desperately needed the silver. He nodded and quickly left the Golden Hall to carry out his odd request, but perhaps he would not ask for any more assignments. The air felt much too heavy inside Grima’s quarters and the boy couldn’t help think that he was involved in something much too sinister. He decided that after this errand, he would find work somewhere else within the city and earn his pay honestly.

* * *

Legolas had been home for a couple months now, waiting, watching, and making Grima’s life more miserable than it already must be. The elf had spoken to him briefly only a few times. Grima recoiled from him each time. Legolas had to admit that he rather enjoyed this power, though he did not understand why Grima felt such animosity. Someone had filled his head with lies about elves, made him frightened of them, but not so much that Legolas felt safe. Although he kept watch over Grima as often as he could spare, Legolas also felt several pairs of eyes watching. Grima’s followers, he thought. They were scattered throughout Edoras. This did not keep Legolas from daily activities though. He had promised Théodred that he would keep his eyes and ears trained, and promised Eomer to keep Eowyn safe. This became his main goal, along with the promise he made to her … to train her to fight.

Eowyn had become used to taking care of her uncle’s house while he was ill. Legolas thought he had never seen Meduseld look so organized. Despite Grima’s presence, she spent time with her uncle, always telling him how much she missed him, and wished he would get well. She would remind him of stories her mother had told her or reminisce about Eomer and her growing up under Théoden’s care. Anything that she thought would renew his memory. Legolas’ heart went out to her, for every day Théoden would not even acknowledge her presence. Legolas could see how this affected her, the idea that her uncle did not remember her or her brother.

The rest of the city was suffering as well. Businesses deteriorated without supplies. Farms stopped producing crops due to a drought. Grima had intercepted Théodred’s orders to send the blacksmiths back to Edoras, and what few remained had no orders and no paying customers. Trade with the East Fold and West Fold had almost completely halted, and without supplies, no one could move forward. Yet, the people endured as best they could, and stayed out of love and concern for their King. Their loyalty showed no bounds, and neither did Legolas’.

While walking back from a practice session with Eowyn, Legolas fell silent as his thoughts took him. Eowyn could tell his mind was elsewhere, and she bumped her shoulder against his as they walked, “Care to share your thoughts?”

Legolas regarded her with a warm smile, “I was just thinking about your people and their devotion to Rohan.” He pointed towards a small house and it’s dry empty field next to it, “For some, there is nothing here, but they stay.”

“Wouldn’t the elves do the same?” she asked. Eowyn was sure they would, but she merely wanted to point out the obvious. “When times are burdensome, all we have are each other.”

Legolas laughed with slight embarrassment, “You are often times right, my lady. I did not mean to insinuate anything. I was just noticing.”

Eowyn looked out at the empty field and sighed, “As sure as I am of our devotion, I myself still wonder from time to time why some stay, but I know that it is hope that keeps them here … hope for better times. There will be better times.” Eowyn whispered this last part, as if she was trying to convince herself.

As they walked along, they noticed smoke coming from the chimney of one of the abandoned blacksmith shops. They stopped and watched the black smoke puff away, and the sound of a hammer pounding metal.

“Did Théoden call the blacksmiths back?” Legolas asked.

“Not that I know of, but I did hear of a rider approaching the city a few days ago. I overheard a pair of gate guards talking about the mysterious visitor. Whoever it is had a letter from the courts, requesting their services,” Eowyn said as she narrowed her eyes and tried to see into the shop at a distance. “It is not an uncommon request, and I thought nothing of it.”

Legolas crossed his arms as he stared at the building, “And now there is a new blacksmith.”

“Wormtongue?” Eowyn asked curiously.

“That’s my first thought.” Legolas turned to Eowyn, “Shall we go introduce ourselves to our newest resident?”

Eowyn looked down at her clothes. She still wore her protective leathers for training, and smiled, “Not exactly how the Lady of Rohan should make acquaintances, but it surely makes a statement.” 

Legolas and Eowyn approached the blacksmith shop. It had once belonged to a man named Folthain, but he had departed along with the others to Helm’s Deep. This place had been his business as well as his home. The front of the building was his shop, while the back half was made into a small one room home.

Legolas gave a quick thought to Lúta and her family, who had been among those blacksmiths sent to the Hornburg. He allowed himself the briefest hope that she had returned, but this was not the kind of place that could support a family. Legolas quickly dismissed his ghosts, not wanting to remember her.

Whoever was here now, was busy at work. Legolas could see the glow of steel and hear the puff of bellows, “Wait here a moment,” he said to Eowyn, who gave him a sharp glare. Legolas ignored her and went inside.

The blacksmith saw the visitor and ceased working immediately. Legolas let his eyes adjust to the dark room, and was shocked by what he found. The blacksmith was very tall, almost as tall as he was, very well built, and very much a woman. She stopped hammering and turned, feeling the elf’s gaze, amber eyes meeting bright blue.

“I don’t believe we have met,” Legolas started with coolness to his tone. The corner of his mouth curled into a wary smile.

She laid her tools down and pushed a stray hair from her face. Then she looked at Legolas from head to toe and back again, “We have not met, for I would have remembered meeting an elf.”

Legolas noticed the unusual accent, very exotic as it rolled of her tongue. He was immediately intrigued, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am—”

“Legolas,” she interrupted, “Yes, it’s quite obvious who you are since you’re the only elf in Rohan. My name is Róta.” Her words were sharp, and her eyes, which never left Legolas, were hungry.

“From where do you hail, Róta?” he asked curiously.

“The Eastemnet was my home. It is all but deserted now,” she answered.

Legolas hadn’t been there, but he remembered Eomer telling him about the people who occupied those vast grasslands. They had no permanent homes, but rather lived out of tents, and moved around as they saw necessary. Now, with Rohan on the verge of war, and orcs roaming across the lands, most inhabitants of the Eastemnet had taken refuge at the Hornburg. Still, Róta did not look or sound Rohirrim, and he was skeptical of her story.

She must have seen his questioning in his eyes, for she smiled at him and continued with her answer, “As you seem to have already guessed, I am not Rohirrim. I am an Easterling, though I defected from my country many years ago, and found refuge amongst the people of the Eastemnet.”

“It is unusual to see a woman blacksmith,” said Eowyn from the doorway. Legolas had heard her approach, but made no notice. “Actually, I don’t believe I’ve ever have,” she continued with an accusatory tone.

“It is a man’s business to say the least, but I have made my mark by becoming one of the best,” answered Róta, her eyes still trained on Legolas.

At a closer look, Legolas noticed that Róta was every bit as tall as he was. She had a unique voluptuous body, straight shoulders, ample bosom, an appetizing curve to her shapely hips and long legs. She wore a tight fitting brown suede vest with no shirt beneath, leaving her sculpted arms bare. A pair of tight tan leggings showed her other assets, and black leather mid-calf boots finished her outfit. Legolas did not mean to examine her so closely, but he’d never seen a woman like this before, with her dark brown hair and amber eyes that watched him seductively.

He must have stared too long, for Róta crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side, “Do you have a problem with a female blacksmith?”

He realized he was gawking and quickly regained his composure, “Not at all. As a matter of fact, I’m thinking there should be more women blacksmiths.”

That remark was echoed by a venomous huff from the doorway. Eowyn was not at all pleased by Legolas’ reaction.

Róta ignored Eowyn, and gave Legolas a half smile, “And I am thinking that there should be more Rohirric elves.” She took a few seductive steps towards Legolas, eyeing him as she went, “Seems we are both somewhat of an enigma.” She reached for his ear, wanting to know what it felt like.

Legolas grabbed her wrist before she could touch him, and brought her hand to his lips, a delicate kiss lingering across her knuckles. Róta did not falter in the least, and eyed Eowyn over Legolas’ shoulder.

Eowyn gave Róta a cold glare, and let her hand come to rest on her sword, which was sheathed at her side. She narrowed her eyes, as if to warn Róta to keep away from Legolas, but Róta smiled arrogantly, ready to accept the challenge. 

Legolas lowered Róta’s hand, bowed his head, and took a step back, “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Róta. Perhaps we shall meet again, when you are not working.”

“I look forward to it,” she purred.

Legolas and Eowyn left the blacksmith shop, and when they were far enough away, Eowyn rounded on him, “What in Mordor was that about, Legolas?”

“What?” he said defensively.

She flailed her hands in the air, annoyed with him, and then mocked his voice, “I’m thinking there should be more women blacksmiths.”

Legolas knew better than to laugh, but he couldn’t help it, and let out a chuckle as he smiled behind his hand covering his mouth. Eowyn punched him in the arm, “What was I supposed to do? I was merely trying to make her feel welcome.”

“You sound like Théo and Eomer just now. Do you know that? I would expect that from them, but not from you,” she reprimanded, “Aren’t you the least bit curious about who she is and why she is here?”

Actually, Legolas was extremely curious about the seductive woman, but he kept that thought to himself, “If we come off as abrasive towards her, we’ll never find out what she’s about. What’s that saying Théo always used to recite? You catch more flies with—”

“. . . with honey rather than vinegar,” she finished for him, “Yes, I guess you’re right, but I don’t like her in the least … the disrespectful bitch.” The last part Eowyn said under her breath.

Legolas took Eowyn’s arm in his and led her towards home, “She may be a blacksmith, but she’d be madder than a warg to take on a shield maiden.”

* * *

A few days had gone by, and Legolas was sitting in his favorite place, the mead hall, enjoying a mug of ale, when the sound of woman’s laughter caught his attention. Off towards the back of the hall was a group of Rohirric men talking and joking, and at the center of it was Róta. He watched how she behaved with them, not flirting but rather an equal. The men spoke to her as if she were one of them. If anyone made some sort of innuendo, she added her own crude remark, and the table would explode into a roar of laughter. She seemed comfortable with the men and them with her. Legolas was quite surprised to see her in the mead hall. At this time of night, the only women were the bar maids, and they were too busy with their patrons to notice any of the men.

Róta was different, and he wondered where and how she learned her trade as a blacksmith. He also wondered why she was here. It was true enough that the remaining residents of the Eastemnet had fled their grassland homes—her story seemed accurate in that sense—but he was puzzled by her occupation. There were no blacksmiths in the open plains.

One of the men asked her something and she smiled deviously, looking at each man with a cock of her eyebrow. She pulled something out of her belt, and Legolas could see it was a dagger, shiny and new. The men were in awe of its brilliance. Legolas was quite impressed too. The blade was not straight, but wavy, the handle a deep red shade like mahogany, and the silver cross guard was shaped like two horse heads. Róta handled it with such care as she might give a lover, and laid it gently on the table for the men to look at. While they observed its resplendency, Róta looked up through her long lashes, her eyes falling on Legolas. The corner of her mouth curled into a seductive smile. It disappeared as soon as one of the men started asking her how she made the weapon and whom it was for.

“The King asked for it specifically. He wanted something that no one else possessed,” she answered, “Each of the weapons I make is one of a kind. No two are alike.”

One of the men picked it up and held it, touching the edge of the blade and flinching. “It’s very sharp,” he commented as he sucked the blood from his cut finger.

“It could cut the wings from a fly and it would hardly notice,” she said, her eyes darting across the hall and finding Legolas once more. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and ran her tongue along her upper lip. Legolas felt a twitch in his loins as she did. Then she took the dagger back and safely sheathed it at her side again, “Consider yourselves lucky to have had a glimpse of it before I deliver it to the King.” She looked around at her present company, “If you’ll excuse me gentlemen.” Róta walked away from the group of men. They watched as she went to Legolas, and joined him at his table. The men seemed protective of her, making sure she was not bothered, but it had been her choice to make acquaintance with the elf. Still, their eyes kept watch over her.

“Hello Legolas,” she purred.

“I did not expect to see you here in the mead hall, but it seems you have no problem making friends,” he said with his smooth elvish voice.

Róta glanced over her shoulder, “They are harmless and they watch out for me, though I can take care of myself. I don’t think they like me talking to you though, but it’s none of their business.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.” Legolas motioned to a barmaid who nodded, and went off to retrieve two mugs of ale. “I suppose if you acquaint yourself with the men, then you drink like them too?” he asked.

She turned her head to the side, and regarded him questioningly, “Are you challenging me to a contest?”

Legolas eyed her, allowing himself a brief glance at her bosom, “I was asking you to join me for a mug, but now that you mention it . . .”

Róta raised her fingers to her lips and blew, whistling loudly and drawing the attention of the barmaid. “Make those tall mugs, if you please,” she shouted over the crowd.

“Tall mugs?” he asked surprised.

“You want to know what I’m made of, so let’s give it a go then. First one to finish wins.”

“Wins what?”

Róta touched her finger to the top of his chest where he had unbuttoned his shirt, and exposed his smooth skin, “I know what I want if I win,” she said in a sultry foreign voice.

“You don’t waste much time do you?” His eyes trained on hers, solidly capturing her for the first time. Up until now, this had been Róta’s game, but Legolas was ready to take the lead for a bit.

She was surprised that he held her entranced like this. Róta was the type who was always in charge, and she fought against his prurient stare, “I see what I want and I take it, but in your case I will make an exception and play your game. So what do you want if you win?”

Legolas’ eyes slowly traveled down her body and came to rest at her waist, “I want to know more about that dagger … why the King ordered it and what he wants it for. I know Théoden quite well and a weapon like this seems a little … ornate for his tastes.”

Róta narrowed her eyes, “Are you questioning my ability as a blacksmith or the artistry of my work?”

Legolas sat back, and allowed his eyes to roam over her, “Neither, my lady. You seem uniquely talented and the dagger seems more of a collective piece. I’m just curious, since I’ve never known King Théoden to be a collector.”

The barmaid arrived, and set two very tall pewter mugs in the center of their table. She smiled at Legolas, but gave Róta a threatening stare, in which the blacksmith laughed off. She was used to women being jealous of her. She was very tall and well-built capturing the attention of men and women, but she couldn’t help who she was, and if her sex appeal helped move her along in this world, then so be it.

They each picked up a mug, and stared at the other. Then Róta spoke first, “On the count of three. Ready? One . . .”

“Two . . .” Legolas continued.

“Three . . .” Róta finished counting, and they both started to guzzle down their ale. They watched each other, and saw that they were about even, drinking without stopping. Legolas was surprised to see her drink like the best of the Rohirric men, not wasting a drop as the mug continued to tilt back. He started to pick up speed after realizing that this really was a contest, and not just a tease. Their mugs continued to go bottom up at the same level, but she started to slow. Seeing his opportunity, Legolas drank faster, feeling that he finally had the upper hand. Suddenly, something was snaking its way up his inner thigh, coming to rest between his legs. Róta’s bare toes were fondling him beneath the table. The suddenness took Legolas by surprised, and he nearly choked as he swallowed. It was just enough of a stumble to let Róta gain the lead, and before he knew it, she was slamming her empty mug on the table only a few seconds before Legolas finished his mug. They were both out of breath, chests heaving, as they wiped white foam and ale from their mouths. Róta gave a genuine smile, as though she actually enjoyed herself, and licked her lips.

“You put up quite a challenge, Legolas. Most men are shocked that I even try such a stunt, but you kept up with me,” she complimented.

“And you cheated,” he said, “But considering the prize you ask for, I can’t say that I’m disappointed by the loss.”

She bit her bottom lip, and gazed at him with cat-like eyes. “No more games. Do you want me, Legolas?” She seemed to squirm in her chair.

He stood up and went to where she sat, towering above her. His hand reached for her chin, tilting her head up, and he captured her again with ice blue eyes. “Let’s go … now,” he demanded.

As Róta got up from her chair, she looked over her shoulder to make sure the group of Rohirric men she had been with were watching. They were. Good, she thought. Witnesses, she would need them later.

* * *

Róta took Legolas to her shop where she resided in a small room in the back. It was quiet here, and no one would come calling upon a blacksmith at this hour. As soon as the door closed behind them, Legolas grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to him, grinding his hips against her. Then he kissed her hard, tongue pushing past her lips uninvited, but well received just the same. She writhed in his arms, her breasts pushing against his chest, but as he reached to grab a handful of soft flesh, she pushed him away.

“Are you in a hurry?” she asked with rapid breath.

“Only to get the first time out of the way, and then I’m going to savor you for the rest of the night,” he replied. Legolas had many questions to ask her, but first things first. They were both willing and wanting, and when she was spent and relaxed, he would get to his questioning.

Róta teasingly undid the top two buttons of her tight fitting shirt, exposing her cleavage, and let her finger trace a path between her breasts. Legolas’ eyes were drawn to her as he waited with anticipation for her to finish taking off the shirt. She stopped though, and turned to a shelf behind her where she picked up a glass decanter holding a dark liquid. She held it up for him to see, “The King’s brandy, half of my payment for the dagger,” she said.

Legolas looked at it curiously, as his suspicions surfaced again, “Théoden does not part easily with his prized stock.”

Róta ignored his insinuations, “I suppose you’ve tasted it before. Tell me, how is it you came to live in Rohan?”

“Are you really interested, or are you only making small talk?” he asked, and kissed the back of her neck while she was turned from him.

Róta shrugged him off, “Not so fast. Don’t forget who won tonight. You are my prize, and we will go at my pace.” Róta waved a hand towards a small woodstove, “Light us a fire, and while you do, tell me your story.” She waited for Legolas to walk away. When he was distracted with the stove, and a brief description of his story, she turned back to the shelf, and slipped a small packet out of her shirt. Inside was a white powder, a drug that would make the elf fall unconscious.

Róta paused before she poured the powder into Legolas’ glass. She could hear him scraping a flint, trying to light some tender. It gave her a moment to think of what it would be like to have an elf in her bed. Legolas was a rarity. What a waste it would be to come this close to having an elvish lover and not—

Róta looked at the packet in her hand, and tucked it back into a secret pocket inside her shirt. This was not the first time she had been paid to seduce and render someone unconscious, but it was the first time that she wanted to actually bed the victim. Not many women could say they slept with an elf, and he was devastatingly handsome with his long platinum hair and muscular build. Just the thought of sucking on one of his pointed ears was enough to make her moist with need. Smiling to herself she thought, “I am going to take my joy with this one first. No need to waist a perfectly willing subject, especially an elf.”

Legolas lit a fire in the stove, but he did not talk about himself. He was not sure of Róta’s game just yet, and he would not say more than he needed. As far as he knew, she was hired for her unique talent for metalwork. The fact that she was a vixen and took an interest in him was just an added benefit. Still, he did not trust her. Maybe it was because he’d never met a woman like her before, but he wanted her, and felt he could control the evening. Besides, he had his own seductive talents, and Róta was not immune to them. He had felt her draw to him when he captured her in his stare. Legolas was confident that he could take charge without being obvious. It would be a challenge, but he was willing.

 

He turned to find Róta with a glass in each hand. She strolled over to him, and handed him his glass. Legolas’ eyes caught hers, and they stared at each other. Finally, Róta let out a huffed laugh and raised her glass to him.

“Here’s to drinking contests,” she said and they drank.

The dark amber liquid warmed Legolas’ body as it traveled down to his stomach. Other parts began to warm too, and a fire lit deep within his core. 

When their glasses were nearly empty, Róta took them and placed them on a table. Then she strolled towards Legolas, hunger for his flesh in her eyes, “There is no need to play anymore games. I want you and you want me.” She circled around him where he stood, his eyes watching her every move. When she came back around to face him, she smiled wickedly, “Do you like to play rough?”

No woman had ever asked him that before, and he wasn’t sure what she meant by it, “I can play any way you want. Just how rough do you like it?” he answered.

“You are a wood elf, no? I have heard many stories about your kind. You can be quite dangerous when provoked. I want you to take me to the edge of that danger.” She cupped her breasts, enticing him, “I want you to ravish me, but I must warn you; I like to put up a fight.”

Legolas liked the thought of a warrior woman, and wondered just how much she knew about fighting. “Something tells me you are more than just a blacksmith,” he said.

“Let’s just say I know a lot about men, and something tells me that you are not much different than they are.” Her exotic accent caressed his ears as she spoke, the words flowing together provokingly.

Legolas’ hands rested against her face as he kissed her. Then they slid down her neck and beneath the fabric of her shirt. He grabbed the edges and ripped it open, buttons flying through the room. He grasped her wrists and raised her hands above her head while shoving her against the wall. One hand held her wrists while the other reached to fondle her ample breasts. He was not sure what she meant by rough, but he knew they would not need the bed, and he rather liked having sex while standing.

Róta moaned and pushed her chest into his hand, “Harder,” she commanded.

He obliged and tightened his hold on her breasts. Then he bent his head, and bit her pebbled nipples with his teeth. She sucked in a tortured breath, slipped a hand free, and shoved him away unexpectedly, “I said harder. I want pain. I want you to mark me.”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d left his mark on a woman. He remembered Audwyn, and the purple mark left upon her neck. Róta did not seem the type to display such evidence. Instead of her neck, he bit the side of her breast, and sucked the flesh into his mouth.

Róta laughed wildly, “Yes, now you see.” Her hands went to the laces of his leggings, and quickly untied them. She slipped her hands inside and released his well-endowed member, pushing his pants to the floor, “I can hardly wait to get you inside me,” she panted.

Legolas’ hands began untying the laces of her leather breeches. He found it odd to do this for a woman, and had only ever done this for himself, but at the same time, it was quite erotic. Soon he had the straps undone and peeled the pants from her body down to the floor. She stepped out of them as she shucked her shirt from her shoulders. It fluttered to the floor, adding to the pile of clothes they had made.

Legolas left his shirt on the pile as well, and made his way back up her body. She stopped him by resting her thigh on his shoulder. He looked up to see Róta smiling deviously and watching him. Legolas kissed the inside on her thigh, and sucked the flesh until it welted, drawing blood to the surface. There was a trail of love bites traveling towards her center. Finally, he devoured her with his tongue, his lips, and then his mouth. He brought his hand around to her backside, and squeezed hard, pulling her further to him. He buried his face, and licked her fully until he felt himself pulled away. Róta had a handful of his flaxen hair twisted between her fingers. At first, it was very arousing, but soon it turned painful as he thought she might rip his hair from his scalp. Legolas stopped pleasuring her and looked up. He was suddenly feeling his control over her slip away.

Róta, however, was in complete control of her actions and reactions. Legolas was very good and knew a woman’s body, but she was not ready to let him have his way. She released his hair, and curled her index finger, calling him to stand, “Tonight you are mine, don’t forget.”

Legolas got to his feet, pushed her against the wall again, and kissed her hard enough to bruise her lips, “If it is a wood elf you want, then you must relinquish some of your control,” he said, and his hand slid between her thighs. She made a small grunt of surprise, but held her composure well.

Her leg instantly came up and wrapped around his naked hip, “Take me here, like this,” she demanded.

Legolas’ hands went to her arse, and he lifted her from the ground. Róta’s other leg wrapped around him as she offered her body, and he slid completely into her warmth. He gave her no time to adjust, and pressed into her body with deep hard thrusts.

Róta moaned loudly as her fingernails clenched his shoulders. Legolas hissed, but ignored the pain. His desire was fed by his need for control. He wanted to hear her moan again, to yell out with pleasure, but she had become silent. Róta was fighting for her own control, and suddenly they were at war.

Legolas proved his strength when he moved one of his hands to the wall, anchoring himself for better support. That was when he noticed the rough sawn wood of the walls. It would be rough on her back, enough that it would leave scratches, so long as he kept forcing her into it with every thrust. He slowed his movements, “Your back … am I hurting—”

“What are you doing?” she asked angrily, “Don’t stop now. Harder,” she demanded, as control was hers again.

Legolas was becoming a little uncomfortable with her pleas for pain, “Are you sure you are not hurt?”

Sensing his reserve, she forced a smile, “I am sure. It doesn’t hurt. Please don’t stop.” She kissed him, and then caressed the tip of his ear as she sucked on the lobe.

Legolas’ hips involuntarily started thrusting again, and now Róta moved with him, “That’s it, my elvish lover, push harder. By the gods, Legolas, you are magnificent,” she encouraged.

Again, Róta’s nails dug into his back as she hung on to him, but he did not flinch. He thought he had control again, thought he was pleasuring her, but he felt her body relax a bit. Then she stopped him and gave a venomous look, “Why are you holding back? You’re not doing as you’re told. I said harder. Now fuck me into this wall. I want to feel the splinters in my back,” she said luring him further on to do her dirty work.

No one had ever spoken to him as Róta had, but no woman had ever been so demanding of him, at least not for deliberate injury. It felt so wrong, but she was reacting salaciously to his actions. The more he hurt her the more excited she got. He did as she wanted and shoved her hard against the wall. Every thrust into her body made her back slide against the rough wood, and she moaned with a combination of pleasure and pain. She gave him pain also, as her fingernails were biting deep into his flesh and sliding from his shoulders and down his back. Then her teeth sunk into the flesh on his shoulder. He could smell the slight tinge of blood, and knew she had broken the skin. She fucked as ferociously as a wild animal, cornered and clawing its way to escape … and he liked it. It made his blood heat and race.

But it was wrong to feel pleasure by giving another pain. He knew this. Elves did not enjoy giving torture, but Róta was reacting insatiably to his conflict. He knew he should stop, but he couldn’t, and he kept pounding her into the wall, knowing full well that he was bloodying her back with the rough wood.

Sweat streamed down his body, making them both slick where their skin touched. The heady smell of sex rose around them in the small warm room. A fire built in his belly, spreading lower and making his cock pulsate within her heated depths. As he was close to climax, he put his conflicting thoughts aside, and gave Róta what she wanted.

Róta must have felt his pulsing need, and deliberately dug her nails deep into his back, tearing at his flesh as bits of blood and skin collected beneath her nails. Legolas cried out with a growl, and sucked the flesh of her shoulder in between his teeth, biting her as she did him, marking her and taking his revenge for the marks she was leaving on his back.

Róta laughed wildly, “Ha! How do you like it, Legolas? It feels good, no? Pain and pleasure, there is not much difference when you’re fucking, is there?”

He did not want to admit it, but she was right. There was something euphoric about the way she opened his flesh while he opened her legs. It was a very fine line, but one he found he was able to balance upon, so long as he did not let himself fall too far to the side of pain. He was still in control, as well as Róta.

Legolas would hardly be able to hold back much longer. “I’m ready, Róta,” he said breathlessly, “Come with me.”

“Not yet,” she answered, and she pushed away from him to look into his face. Very seriously, she said, “Hit me!”

Lost in the midst of passion and pain, he thought he misunderstood her. “What?” he asked.

“I’m ready to come, but … I need … you to hit me.”

He stopped thrusting and focused on her face, his brows knitted in confusion. This was becoming too much. He was already crossing a line by giving in to her pleas for pain, but he would not … could not possibly do what she was asking, “I can’t hit you. I’ve never hit any woman.”

“But I want you to.” She started writhing against him, encouraging him to do the same, “I need you to do this.”

Legolas shook his head, “No, this had gone too far. I can’t. I won’t,” he said firmly.

“You are the best fuck I’ve ever had, and I want to come with you, but I need you to do this. I demand you do it.” She dug her nails into his back tearing open his existing wounds, “I am giving you my permission.” Her hips gyrated against him.

“Róta, stop,” he yelled. He could not possibly hit her, but his cock was retaliating by pulsing as he seed built and his balls hardened. The friction from her body caused him to start thrusting into her again. His conscience to do what was right gave over to his lust, and he pounded her senseless into the wall, “Is this what you want?” he said with anger.

She laughed, “Yes, Legolas, now hit me!”

“No!” he yelled as he pounded deep. Her inner muscles were beginning to squeeze him, and he realized that for the first time, he was no longer in control. Róta was using his body and his mind, but he would not hit her. She would just have to come without it.

“Do it!” she screamed, and as he was about to protest again, she released one hand from his back, and raised it in the air. It came down in one fair swoop, scratching him long and deep from his cheekbone to his jaw.

Legolas’ mind was racing with lust and rage, the combination making him fall into her lascivious trap. “You bitch!” he shouted and slapped her hard across the face. Time seemed to slow and he could feel his palm connect with the soft flesh of her cheek, felt it flatten as bone rose to the surface. The sound of the smack reverberated through his hand and up his arm. He knew this was wrong, but seeing her smile, hearing her wicked laugh, and feeling her body writhe against him did nothing to stop himself from fucking her in this deranged uncontrollable state. He thrust hard, not caring anymore, and spilled violently into her body, “Fuck!” he yelled as he came, a combination of anger towards Róta, pleasure from the most inflaming yet sickening reason to climax, and shame for allowing himself to give in to her perverseness.

Róta was moaning as her body shuddered with passion and she came, “By the gods, yes!”

They hung on the edge of their orgasm until it finally began to subside. Legolas was disgusted, but he could not move yet. He came so hard that his muscles felt like they froze, and he leaned against her for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. Then he looked at her, and was horrified by what he saw. The left side of her face was bright red, and beginning to swell around her eye. He could see the outline of his hand and fingers where he had hit her. He didn’t think he hit her that hard, “Why did you make me do this? It is pure absurdity,” he said angrily.

“No, Legolas,” she protested as he tried to release her. “It was the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Gods, you are so hard, even now.” Legolas managed to push her from him, and she looked down to see his fully erect cock, red and pulsing as if he was not through. 

He left her leaning against the wall and walked away, turning from her, “Your face … for Valinor’s sake, what have I done?” Legolas turned back to her, enraged by what had happened, “You forced me to go against everything I stand for. An elf should never give pain and take pleasure in doing so.”

“Don’t play coy with me. I felt your response, and I know you enjoyed it,” Róta accused, “It the power, isn’t it? All of that power over someone … you know what I speak of. I felt it in the way you looked at me. You can’t say this is the first time you have fucked for power and not pleasure. Pain just increases that power.”

Legolas understood what she was saying, and he hated what he was feeling, “Power is a dangerous thing. It is not something to use so freely.”

Róta started to walk towards him, but Legolas put a hand up and stopped her, “You are insane. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I’m through here.” He was completely repelled by her freakish need for pain, and by his own lust to see it done. She had taunted and teased him to the point that he did not recognize himself any longer, and though it felt intensely satisfying for one split moment, he was now regretting his actions. He turned from her and grabbed his clothes, hurriedly trying to put his pants back on.

Róta started to panic, though she remained calm on the outside. She could not let him leave. She had a task to complete, and that required rendering the elf unconscious. She had to keep her end of the bargain, “Please stay for just one drink. We can talk about this. Don’t leave feeling this way.” She picked up her shirt and fumbled for the packet in the hidden pocket.

While his back was still turned, she went to the shelf, poured him a glass of burgundy, and emptied the packet’s contents into it. Then she picked up the empty crystal pitcher, and held it behind her back as she spun around. Legolas was struggling to tie up his laces. “Please, a peace offering, if you will,” she said sweetly.

She sounded sincere, and he had an overwhelming need to treat her wounds, but he knew he could not stay another moment. Róta was dangerous, and he was not sure what else she might have planned for him. He shook his head in disgust, “No more … I’m leaving.”

Legolas started to turn away from her when he saw a flash in his peripheral vision. His eyes moved to the corners as he tried to see what it was, and then a shocking pain landed on the side of his head. He felt the back of his ear split open. Everything went black as pitch, and tiny bursts of light flashed in the darkness. Next, his hearing started to fade, and then his body went limp. Everything was fading now as he felt himself collapse to the floor. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was Róta’s muffled voice somewhere close to his head. “What a waste,” she said calmly, “He was the best fuck I ever had.”

“You bitch,” he thought, “You set me up, but for what.”

With Legolas lying unconscious on the floor, Róta started ransacking the small room, tearing the sheets from her bed, upsetting a small table, and knocking over a few other items in the room. She dressed haphazardly in her pants and torn shirt, pulled a few tendrils of hair from the leather strap and rubbed some dirt from the floor on her skin. Satisfied, she checked on Legolas. He was out cold, a lump beginning to rise on his head. His ear was bleeding where the skin broke, and it trickled down the side of his neck. His face was already swelling around the scratch and bleeding. Everything seemed in orderly disorder. Lastly, she emptied the tainted drink from the glass, and threw it against the wall, where it shattered.

Róta took a heavy breath and released it, “Time for the show,” she muttered to herself. Clutching her ripped shirt over her breasts, she opened the door and stumbled out, just in case someone saw her leaving. Right away, she noticed a pair of guards off in the distance, and she started calling to them, hunched over and barely walking, “Help me! Please help me. I was attacked.”

The guards heard her and came running over. Their eyes went wide when they saw the deplorable condition she was in. Róta forced herself to begin crying as she collapsed in the arms of one of the guards.

“Who did this to you?” the man ordered.

Róta pointed to her home, “It was the elf. I … I hit him in the head and he fell unconscious. He’s still inside. Please help me,” she cried.

The guards looked at each other in disbelief, but seeing the injuries to the woman, they knew something had happened. “Go and check,” called the guard holding Róta.

The second man cautiously entered her home and disappeared inside. When he came out, his face looked distraught and he nodded, “It is him, though I can hardly believe it.”

Róta lifted her face from the guard’s chest, and looked at the second man, “We met in the mead hall earlier this evening. He challenged me to a drinking game. I thought it was harmless. Then he asked to walk me home. The drink … it … it crazed him with lust. I told him no, but he wouldn’t listen and he … he . . .” She started crying again.

“It’s alright my lady. You are safe now,” said the guard holding her. He looked to his partner. “Take her to the healer, and send two more guards to help me get him to the cells. We’ll sort this out when he comes to.”

The second guard nodded, and took Róta’s arm to steady her. As he led her away, the first guard entered the house for the first time and looked around. He shook his head when he saw the unconscious elf lying on the floor. Then he rolled Legolas onto his side and took a bit of rope that he kept with him, tying the elf’s wrists tightly, in case he started to wake before help arrived. They would take Legolas to the cells, and report their findings to King Théoden. If indeed this was rape, the elf would be hung. Rohan would not tolerate such a savage act.


	22. What Lies Beneath Edoras

Legolas knew they were only dreams, but they seemed so real. It had been a long time since he dreamed of the night his father was killed. Legolas was there in his dream, orcs and their blades swinging at a helpless shape on the floor, his father’s blade sliding across the room, and Elhadron’s arms holding Legolas tight as they made their way to the secret tunnel.

“Go now, Laiqalassë. Hurry! Your father will be along soon.” 

He had heard Elhadron as he pushed him through the secret entrance behind the tapestry, and he was surprised that he remembered the tone of the counselor’s voice. He hadn’t heard anyone say his true name in years.

The dream changed after he went inside the tunnel, and he was no longer the helpless elfling. The sound of an orc grunting transformed into a woman’s distant laughing. It was dark, and the air was warm. A breeze blew against his face, but he could not see his hand in front of him. The air changed direction, and it was blowing against his ear. The breeze was scented now … brandy.

Legolas became angry, “Róta, where are you, you dreadful bitch.”

There was another laugh from somewhere deep in the tunnel, echoing and becoming louder as it wafted towards him. Then she stopped and sighed, “Such a shame. You were the best fuck I ever had.”

Legolas thought he could see a light in the distance, a torch perhaps. He started calling out, but he had no voice, only air passed over his lips. Róta was yelling though, calling to the torch owner, begging for help and pointing an angry finger at him.

He could not understand what she was saying, but he knew she was accusing him of something, “No, she lies!” Legolas yelled in an airy whisper.

Then his back felt suddenly cold and clammy. His wrists were sore, and his arms were drained of blood. He was stuck to the wall of the tunnel, as if the rock had claimed his body, and it was encompassing him. Róta was laughing wildly as the torch’s light came closer, “Hang him! Hang him!” she chanted.

* * *

Legolas slowly came around to a sense of unfamiliarity. The air was musty and damp, reminding him of a cave he once explored with Théodred and Eomer when they were younger. Unlike the cave, there was the scent of rusty metal and old hay. To his relief, the sound of Róta’s chanting ceased, but the feel of cold stone against his back was very real, and so were the shackles.

He opened his eyes, and his vision adjusted. He looked up and found his wrists bound by metal cuffs, and holding all of his weight. The edge of the metal cut into his flesh, and his arms were indeed numb. Legolas shuffled his feet and stood. Blood instantly rushed into his arm, and the torture of a million tiny pins stabbed his flesh from the inside out.

The metallic scent of dried blood was strong, and he looked down to find the front of his shirt stained dark red. His ear hurt and his head was pounding. Any movement made it feel worse. Legolas leaned against the wall, and began accessing his surroundings. He blinked his eyes repeatedly to remove the haze that clouded them.

“I’m in the cells?” he asked himself. Why was he here and not at home or at least in the healer’s house? Something had hit him in the head, something heavy. It all came rushing back to him now, the brandy, bare skin, sex … and the sting of his palm when he slapped her. “Róta,” he muttered to himself. It hadn’t been just a dream.

Legolas swiveled at the waist, and winced as the material of his shirt pulled at the dried wounds on his back. Róta had done that, scratched him deep with her wicked nails until he was bleeding and raw. He could still feel the bite marks on his shoulders and the deep scratch that ran along the side of his face. He had hit her after that. She had begged him to. He denied her, but when she attacked him, he defended himself out of instinct. Legolas was so angry at the time that he hadn’t realized she had done it on purpose. He fell into her trap, lost control, and played her game.

He could still feel the skin of her face on his palm, could hear the crack of bone. And as she cried out in pain, he came inside her, caring nothing about her. The worst thing to happen in that one moment of rage and carnal desire was when he undoubtedly knew that he enjoyed it. Of all the times he had made love, he had never felt such complete climax. Just to think about it now made his loins stir. Disgusted with himself, his stomach lurched and bile rose to his throat.

Róta’s voice returned to his memory, “Even now you are so hard.”

These were the last things he remembered before he was knocked unconscious, and he felt as though he was still in her home. His body reacted as if he had just finished with her, and his cock came to life. He could not stop what was happening to him. A vision of her battered face flashed before his eyes, and Legolas heaved and leaned forward, spilling the contents of his stomach down his bloodied shirt. Some of it fell to the dirt floor of his cell, and splattered his bare feet. His body convulsed until there was nothing left but dry heaves, coughing and sputtering. The smell of fresh vomit mixed with the rest of the foul smells and there was no escape, no source of fresh air. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on open skies and lush fields of grass until he had calmed himself.

He regained some control, and looked around at his surroundings. Legolas was inside small dark cell. A faint glow from a single torch gave enough light for his elf eyes to see his surroundings, not that there was much to see. There was obviously a cot with a poorly stuffed mattress and a bucket in the opposite corner. He wished he had seen that before he vomited. It would not have matter though, as he was restrained by chain and shackles. The walls of the cell were carved from stone, and thick rust colored iron bars lined the front of the rocky alcove. There was not much more outside of the cell, a wooden bench, the torch on the wall and another bucket. No windows lined the wall; the cells of Edoras were buried beneath the city. There seemed to be no other prisoners either, or at least, Legolas could not hear anyone. The only sounds seemed to be the rats scurrying along the edge of the walls and dripping water.

He tried to evaluate his injuries again, and how he got them. The side of his head hurt worst of all. Something hit him. Yes, he remembered now. He was leaving, his back turned to Róta, and received an unexpected blow to his head. He was hit hard enough that he blacked out and fell, but he could still hear, and his mind was still sharp. The sound of glass breaking was familiar. She must have hit him with something and it shattered when it fell from her hand. The pitcher, he reminded himself … and brandy, the strong scent of brandy.

“She hit me with the glass pitcher,” he said aloud, no one there but the rats to hear him.

Just before that moment, she tried to make him stay for another drink. He found that quite odd after they . . . after their lewd behavior. She had been insistent that he take more brandy. Why? When he wouldn’t stay, and wouldn’t take the offered drink, she snuck up on him knocking him unconscious. And now he was in a cell. Legolas’ heart started to beat rapidly, “Shit! She swindled me!”

Why? His mind raced to remember everything that happened that led up to this, but there was not much to go on. She was new to the city, but so were other people. She was a blacksmith, odd considering that Grima had sent most of them away.

Grima … Damnit, he should have known. The old worm must be involved in this. Legolas’ mind started to clear, “She said she was employed by the King … a dagger.” It made no sense at all, but that could only mean that Grima was part of this. Did he know Róta?

As Legolas tried to figure it out, he heard the sound of hinges creaking, and light spilled into the dark corridor. Someone was coming into the jail. Legolas pulled himself away from the wall, and stood tall and straight. He would not let them think he was weakened, though he was.

It looked like an apparition of death floating down the corridor, a black ominous shadow with a white ghastly face glowing in the dark. Grima approached with two of his henchmen guards. The guards stood one at each side of the cell door with Grima in the middle. The King’s advisor glared at Legolas, remaining silent as if considering his words before he spoke. Legolas’ eyes narrowed, but he was judging the distance between himself and Grima’s neck. If only he wasn’t chained to the wall.

“Legolas,” Grima started in a menacing voice, “You have been charged with a crime, an attack upon one of our citizens.”

“I have done nothing,” Legolas growled, careful not to say too much until he knew what Grima wanted from him.

“Nothing you say? That is not what the blacksmith says. You remember her don’t you or were you too obscured by drink to recall?”

“Nothing happened between us that was not mutual. If she has told you anything else then she lies.”

“She lies does she?” Grima’s bony hands eased out of his flowing sleeves as he crossed his arms. “And I suppose the bite marks between her thighs, on her neck and shoulders are imaginary. Her swollen face and cracked eye socket are just a figment of her imagination. And the sticky remnants between her legs . . .” Grima paused as he watched Legolas’ eyes widen and his mouth fall open. “Oh yes, the healers did a thorough examination, and found evidence of the rape still clinging to her cunt.”

Legolas was horrified. “Rape? It was not rape. I would never do such a thing. It goes against the very laws of the elves. You know this Grima.”

“I know that there is a very distraught and shocked woman claiming you forced yourself upon her against her will. I know that the King was a fool to ever bring an elf into this city. I know that your kind can never be trusted,” Grima said as his voice became louder with every word. He looked at the guards and waved a hand in the air. “Leave us,” he commanded. When the guards hesitated, he glared at them and yelled, “Now!” They left instantly, and Grima brought his attention back to the elf. He took a key out from his sleeve, unlocked the cell door and entered the dirty room. He was careful not to get too close to the elf, though. Even in chains, Grima was still fearful of him.

Legolas sensed the advisor’s fear. He always had. This was one reason Grima had always managed to avoid close contact with him. Legolas played up this fear now, though there was not much he could do while shackled to the wall, “You may not trust me, Grima, but most of Rohan is suspicious of you.”

“That may very well have changed recently,” Grima smiled evilly, “I told Théoden to be rid of you, but he would not listen. I told him the day would come when you would turn against Rohan, and he called me a fool. The elves hold a maniacal magic, luring men into thinking that they are powerful and all knowing, making women swoon with just one look. It’s all just a game to the elves though. Once they earn that trust, they rape the women and slash the men’s throats as they sleep.”

“I did not rape Róta. If anything, she raped me. She made me do things against my will. She wanted everything I did to her,” Legolas retaliated angrily. A sickening smile spread across Grima’s face and suddenly it all became clear. Legolas took another step away from the wall and glowered at the man. “You did this. You are involved in all of this,” he whispered in disbelief. “I have known of your animosity towards me. I know of your hatred and your fear.” Legolas thrust his body forward, coming to the end of his chains, and it made Grima back away, his smile instantly fading.

“I can feel that fear now.” Legolas smiled wickedly, “You should be frightened, Wormtongue, for if I ever get out of this cell—”

“I would think twice before finishing that sentence,” Grima warned. “But then, you will not get out of this dungeon any time soon, and when you do, it will be to march you to the gallows.”

“Théoden would never let that happen. There are people here that will know I did not … could not do such a horrendous deed.”

Grima reached into the opening of his robes and retrieved a scroll of parchment. He unrolled it, and held it up for Legolas to see, laughing quietly to himself.

Legolas read quickly, the words ‘Death by Hanging’ standing out like a beacon. He felt his heart miss a few beats, and then searched the bottom of the document for Théoden’s signature. His body went numb with shock when he saw the illegible scrawl, hardly noticeable as being that of the King, but Legolas somehow knew that it was indeed written by Théoden’s ill hands.

Grima’s fear turned into loathing, “Théoden listens to no one but me now, and when I told him of the deplorable things you did to this woman, he signed it right away. You are as good as dead, but first I want to see you wither away in here for a while. I understand that it pains an elf’s soul to be locked away like this, with no sun, no moon, no stars to look to at night. A quick hanging is not punishment enough.”

Legolas glared at him, “Why are you doing this? I have never done anything to you. I have ever been faithful to Théoden and his house. Théodred and Eomer are like brothers to me. And Eowyn . . .” He paused as he saw Grima’s face change from malice to longing at the mention of the shield maiden’s name. “That’s it isn’t it? That is really what is at the center of all this … Eowyn. Don’t think I have not seen the way you look at her. And you call me a rapist.”

Grima’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened, “I would never do to her what you have done to Róta.”

Legolas ignored his comment, “Eowyn despises you, Wormtongue. No matter what you are planning, she will never agree to anything you offer her.”

“What I could offer her is much more than this dust-covered city could ever give her. She deserves more than an uncle who treats her as a servant rather than a niece, or a war mongering brother who deserts her, and leaves her in the filthy hands of a loathsome elf.” Grima narrowed his eyes and looked upon Legolas with disgust, “I’ve seen how you brush a hand over her knee or the way you touch her hair. She is a symbol of purity and beauty, and you would defile her the way you do the servants and the bar maids. Don’t think I have not been watching you too. More than once have I heard amatory moans of lust coming from you room. You roam around the city collecting women like trophies, sticking your prick in anyone who will spread their legs for you. You are nothing but a menace and a threat.”

Legolas strained against his bindings, wishing he could wrap his hands around Grima’s neck, “Ever since you came back to Rohan, the city and its King have been failing. I know you have everything to do with it, but my strongest instincts say that you do not work alone. My guess is that the White Wizard taught you some of his magic. Is that it? We already know he is responsible for the breeding of the Isengarder orcs, but to attack at our borders was not enough. It’s you isn’t it, Grima? What did he promise you in return for ruining the city and its King?”

Grima said nothing, but his eyes gave him away. Legolas had no more doubts of Grima’s intentions, “Poison the King, force Eowyn into a marriage, and you think you’ll take the throne. Is that what Saruman promised you, the crown of Rohan? You forget that Théodred would serve in his father’s place, or Eomer, should something happen to his son.”

Grima’s face screwed up into a devious smile at the mention of Legolas’ friends, “Surely you must know I have eyes and ears all across Rohan, and not just in Edoras. I know that they have disobeyed direct orders of the King. They roam here and there, killing at will. Théodred acts as though he has already been crowned. I warned them and they did not listen. Now they are in violation of treason according to the laws of Rohan.” Grima laughed and unconsciously took a step towards Legolas, “While your death papers were drawn up, I also had warrants drawn for Théodred and Eomer. As soon as either one steps foot into the city, they will be arrested.”

Legolas roared with anger and jutted towards Grima. The man gasped and jumped backwards, crashing against the iron bars, but he quickly recovered and left the cell, locking it and hiding the key within his black robes.

“You won’t get away with this, Grima!” Legolas shouted.

“Oh, I see things much differently, and soon you will be on your way to Mandos’ Hall … after I break your spirit,” Grima hissed. With the cell safely locked and Legolas still chained to the interior wall, Grima’s sense of empowerment came back, “Don’t you see, you were in my way, the only thing standing between me and the throne. Théodred and Eomer … they were easy enough to remove, but you . . . Théoden trusted everything you told him as if you were some kind of a seer. The others treated you as if you were one of the Valar come to walk amongst men. When I came back, no one trusted me anymore and it was all because of you. Now, no one will believe you, and I will regain my position upon the council and soon the throne.”

Grima’s hands disappeared beneath his cloak and he seemed to shrink back into the darkness. “We are through here. Soon you’ll be a swinging corpse and Eowyn will grieve, but it will be me who is there to comfort her, and then Rohan will be mine.” He laughed beneath his hood, and turned down the corridor. The door to the cellar opened, but Grima paused and calmly said over his shoulder, “I hope you enjoyed my little gift. I hear Rota is quite the professional, and a vixen from the look of that scratch on your face. I’d say she gave you more attention than most of her other clients. Damn the elves and their fair beauty.” Grima didn’t care that Legolas knew the truth. He would be dead soon anyways.

The door to the jail closed, and Legolas was once again alone. He felt completely helpless. Théodred and Eomer must be warned not to return to the city, but how could he get word to them? The guards could not be trusted; they were Grima’s men. With the lies that must already be spreading about the alleged rape, Legolas could not count on help from any villagers. “Eowyn,” he whispered. She was the only person who would help, if she too hadn’t fallen for the lies. Would she come though? Would she be allowed to visit him? Legolas had a feeling he’d be denied any and all visitors, especially now that Grima’s lies were exposed.

* * *

Two days passed since anyone came to the jail. Not even the guards came. There was no food, no water, and the light of the torches burned out long ago. The chains of his shackles were just long enough that he could sit on the dirt floor, but it left his arms stretched as far as they would go, and the metal cuffs cut into the flesh of his wrists. He could sit, at least, but not at long intervals. He had slept this way for the past two nights, and his skin was raw and bleeding where the metal had cut in. His shoulders hurt from the odd position, but there was nothing he could do. He had to sit from time to time.

Legolas looked longingly at the wooden bucket across the cell. He had tried multiple times, without success, to kick it with his foot, and bring it close enough to him. If he could just sit on the bucket, it would give some relief to his arms, which were now numb. The slightest movement sent tiny stabs of pain throughout his muscles.

“They are weakening me,” he thought. He knew Grima did not trust him, even locked in a cell. The bindings would guarantee his confinement; though there was not much he could do, even had he not been bound to the wall. The dirty cot looked like a luxury by now, and he was jealous of the rats that ran freely along the floor, stopping to drink water that slowly dripped down the far wall. Food he could manage without for a while, but water … he needed water soon.

Sometime late on the third day, someone finally came to the jail. Legolas heard the creaking of hinges and the rattling of keys. Two sets of footsteps came down the corridor and stopped outside of his cell. One person held a torch, while the other unlocked the cell door. Legolas was sitting on the floor, barely able to lift his head to see who had come. The light from the torch hurt his tender eyes, unused to any brightness.

The cell door made a high-pitched screech as it opened and Legolas cringed. He looked up to see a guard standing just inside his cell, “Water, please,” he croaked. His throat was so dry that his vocal chords barely worked.

The guard hesitated and regarded Legolas with a wary eye, “Try anything, and I’ll stab you,” he said in warning.

Legolas shook his head, “No, I’ll not do anything.”

The guard turned and nodded to the second guard with the torch, “It’s alright. Bring the bucket, and sit it next to the cot.

The second guard put the torch into its holder on the wall, and then proceeded to carry a bucket into the cell. The first guard kept an eye on Legolas, making a small dagger visible in case the elf decided to make any sudden moves. Legolas didn’t even try to get up, but he noticed that they put the bucket far out of his reach. What was the point of bringing him water, he thought.

To his surprise, the first guard motioned to the torch bearing guard, who came up to Legolas and reached for the shackles. The man fumbled around with his key, but finally released both of Legolas’ hands before he quickly moved away from the elf’s reach.

The sudden free movement of his arms was painful, but Legolas made circular motions with his shoulders, “Thank you,” he said in barely a whisper.

The guards said nothing more, and started to back out of the cell, but the first guard stopped, glared at Legolas’ weakened form, and spit into the bucket. Then both guards left, locking the door after they stepped out. In their hurry, the second guard left the torch on the wall and exited the jail.

Legolas slowly got to his feet and walked to the cot. It felt very strange to have any kind of range of motion after being shackled to a wall for three days. He sat on the grungy mattress, and leaned down, looking into the bucket. A nasty glob of slimy phlegm floated in the center. Legolas dipped his hands into the bucket of water, scooping up the guards uncalled for remains, and tossed it into the corner. The water smelled of rust, probably dipped from an abandoned well, but he did not care, and neither did he care about the guards attempt to taint the water with his spit. It was wet, that was all that mattered. Legolas cupped his hands and pulled water from the bucket, drinking deeply. It tasted horrid, like liquid copper, but he drank it none the less.

It took every last ounce of his energy to satisfy his thirst. What he needed now was elvish healing sleep. The cot smelled like old urine, and he didn’t want to think of the nasty things that might be living inside the corn husk stuffed mattress. Surely they would be attracted to the heat of his body, not exactly the kind of partners he cared to share his bed with. It was at least a place to lie, and that was just what he did. Legolas closed his eyes, and envisioned trees and cool breezes, quickly succumbing to slumber.

* * *

“Legolas,” said a whispered voice, soft and sweet.

He thought he was dreaming. Who did the womanly voice belong to? Perhaps he was imagining Audwyn, or one of the twins from the tavern.

“Legolas, wake up. We haven’t much time,” she said again.

His exhausted mind played tricks on him, and he envisioned the voice belonging to one of the Valar, “Have you come for me then? Shall this be the day I meet the Doomsman himself?” 

“There will be no trip to Mandos for you today … not if I can help it.” The womanly voice held a bit of anger in it, “Now awake or I’ll take matters into my own hands, and deliver you there personally.”

Legolas’ fogged mind began to clear and he smiled, “Ah, only a shield maiden would threaten a dying elf with death.” He rolled over onto his back and looked up into the face of Eowyn.

“And it will be both our deaths if you do not get up.” She gently pushed his hair from his face and kissed his forehead. “Oh Legolas, you look awful.”

Legolas let a small laugh escape his lips. “I feel awful.”

“Can you sit up?” she asked. When he tried, she put a hand beneath his shoulder and helped him. Eowyn had never seen Legolas in such a deteriorated state before. He was so weak. She could feel it in his arms and legs as she helped lower them over the edge of the cot. His hair was stringy and dirty, not the salubrious shine she was used to seeing. And his eternal glow had faded to a sallow grey. Eowyn hated seeing him like this, but even more she hated Grima for allowing this to happen. “What have they done to you?”

He did not answer her, but his mind lingered on only one question, “Did you bring food? They have not fed me since they brought me here.”

Eowyn reached into a pouch hanging at her side, and pulled out a piece of bread torn from a larger loaf, “I had a feeling they hadn’t. Here,” she said, shoving the bread into his hand. Then she pulled a small flask in the shape of a teardrop from the pouch, uncorked his and gave that to him, “Something to wash it down with, wine.”

“Praise Béma for sending you here, my lady,” he said, then remembered his reason for being here. Legolas abandoned the bread and wine in his lap, and took her hands instead, “Eowyn, I didn’t do it. Please, you have to believe that I—” 

“Oh, my dear Legolas, I knew the moment I heard that you could never do such a thing.” She brought his hands to her lips and placed a gentle kiss upon his fingers. The surety in her voice was more life sustaining than the food and drink she had brought.

“Then you must be the only one. The look of fear and resentment upon the guards faces surely speaks for the rest of the villagers. They must think I am some vile creature.”

Eowyn’s comforting smile faded, and she looked down to their joined hands, “It would be a lie if I told you otherwise. There are some, those who have been influenced by Grima and his followers, who believe Róta’s story. Legolas, she has done all she can to ruin your name.”

“She is still in the city?” he asked, and something that resembled fear and shame coated his words. He saw anger wash over Eowyn’s face as he spoke, and regretted his vulnerability.

“I have yet to see her, but when I do—”

“Eowyn, no, you mustn’t go anywhere near her. She works for Grima. He sent her to ruin me, and she has done just that. I was a fool to fall into this trap.”

“A fool, yes,” she reprimanded, “Did I not tell you I did not trust her? Men … always thinking below the waist.” She reached out and touched the side of his face, turning it to the side so she could get a better look at the long scratch, “And elves obviously,” she added.

They sat in silence while Legolas took up the bread once more, chewing slowly. The movement of his jaw made the scab stretch and open. Eowyn took the moment to glance around the cell. Legolas watched her eyes widen as she spied the shackles. There were blood smears on the wall where his wrists had rested. Her eyes left the wall and came back to him, now full of grief for him.

“Do you know what they plan to do to you?” she asked regretfully.

Legolas nodded, unable to answer with a mouthful of bread.

“I won’t let them,” she said, “They will have to take me to the gallows with you.”

Legolas swallowed the bread, took a drink from the flask to help wash it down, and smiled slightly, though it hurt to do so, “Always the shield maiden.” He looked past her, out into the hallway, and gestured with a nod, “How did you get in here?”

Eowyn smiled slyly, “The guard that is on duty tonight … he is not completely swayed to Grima’s side, and I know something about him. The little coward holds a secret, and he fears my knowledge of this more than he fears Wormtongue.”

Legolas’ eyebrows shot up at this, “My dear sweet Eowyn … a blackmailer?”

“You have not seen the extent of my wrath,” she answered, but her face went somber in an instant, “I cannot stay long, but I had to come.”

Legolas finished the wine and handed her the flask back, “Take this so they won’t find it. I won’t risk them finding out that you came to me.” He had only eaten half of the bread, but he hid the rest beneath the mattress of his cot, “I’ll keep this though. It will be gone before anyone comes.”

“I’ve sent word to Eomer and Théodred, about your situation, but I fear they may not get it. Grima has strict control of the messengers. The boy I sent has not returned, and I fear what might have happened to him,” she informed as she stood from the edge of the cot, and Legolas saw her worry.

“Not Gellír, the boy who helped you with the dusting that time,” he inquired, but the look Eowyn gave him confirmed his question.

“He believes you, Legolas. He came to me right away and said he wanted to help you. I could not send any of the regular messengers, and I thought Gellír was small enough and smart enough to slip away unnoticed. Now I worry that I may have made a mistake.”

Legolas reached for her arm, and squeezed it, “I am sure he is fine. He is very smart and sly. He is a thief, is he not?” Legolas remembered the reason Gellír was sent to Eowyn in the first place, having been caught stealing from food carts.

Eowyn forced a smile, “I’m sure you are right.”

Legolas released her arm, “Eowyn, you mustn’t let Théo or Eomer come back to Edoras. Grima has spies everywhere, and not just within Edoras. He knows that they have broken laws and roam the Riddermark without permission. Grima has drawn up warrants for treason against them both. If they come back, they will be arrested.”

There was a sudden sound of hinges creaking. The main door to the jail had opened a crack, “You must leave now, my lady.” It was the guard who let Eowyn in.

She hurried to the cell door, went out and locked it back up. Legolas felt the pull of his heart, as he desperately wished he could follow her. Eowyn must have seen the look on his face, “I’ll do what I can, Legolas. I will get you out of here somehow.” With that, Eowyn hastened down the corridor and slipped out unnoticed.


	23. From Darkness Into Flight

Eowyn had come to see Legolas on three separate occasions, but it had been several days since her last visit to the jail, and Legolas worried that something had happened to her. Thoughts of Grima’s plans to do away with him, as well as Théodred and Eomer, plagued his mind. Without any of them to protect her, Grima would be able to force her into marriage and assume the throne. What would he do if his friends were already murdered? Legolas decided that if he could get free of his cell, he would protect Eowyn at all costs. There wasn’t much he could to for the King, at least not now. There wasn’t anything he could do for anyone as long as he was locked up.

The problem had to do with getting out of this dirty cell. There was no way out just yet, but his mind went to work devising a plan, should the guards ever bring him out into the light, even if it was to take him to the gallows.

Some of his strength had returned, but he was still a bit anemic from lack of nutrition. Grima’s guards brought him food and water once a day—sometimes skipping a day— if food was what you could call it. He was thankful for the darkness. The gruel they brought him smelled foul, and was full of pieces of grizzle and bits of bone. He was afraid to think what animal they had belonged to.

“Blessed Valar, let it not be my own horse that they feed me,” he prayed each time he was brought the disgusting stew. Still, it was food and he ate it.

Legolas wondered where Grima was, and what he was up to. The coward hadn’t come back to the jail, not since they released him from his shackles. Legolas had sensed the worm’s fear many times. Even now, Grima stayed clear of him, sending guards to deal with his care instead. He would see him soon enough, he hoped. It was not over. Legolas would see Grima cast down and exposed for his treachery. 

One night, Legolas was roused from his slumber when he heard an argument at the jail’s main door. He could make out a distinct womanly voice, demanding entry. Eowyn, he thought. It must be that guard she had spoken of, that was on duty this evening. She had some bit of information on him, and she was blackmailing him into letting her in to see Legolas. Tonight, the guard sounded defiant, though.

“We had an agreement,” Eowyn demanded, and Legolas could just imagine how she looked at the moment. The guard would be smart to let her pass.

“In which I let you the amount of times we agreed upon. I did not say I would do it any more than that,” the guard argued.

“Well, then maybe you would like to explain to Moldred how his wife is with child, and he at the borders.”

There was a moment of silence, and Legolas feared that the guard might have done something to keep Eowyn from talking. The elf held his breath and waited for any sound.

“You have no proof,” the guard said, his voice coming across as an anxious whisper.

“I have his wife’s word,” Eowyn answered.

“I’ll deny it.”

“Moldred’s wife is in love with you. She will not deny it in the least,” Eowyn shot back, and there was a brief silence from either one.

“How … how do you … know all of … this?” the guard stuttered.

“I keep my mouth shut and my ears open,” Eowyn said arrogantly, “Now let me pass, and I’ll give another consideration to the thought of tightening my lips.”

Another bout of silence had Legolas hopeful that at any moment, Eowyn would come in through the jail door, but she hadn’t.

“I cannot let you in,” the guard said definitely.

“Don’t test me,” Eowyn growled back with venom in her words.

“My lady,” the guard said, sounding very sure of what he was about to say, “You can tell Moldred, and he will surely beat me within an inch of my life, but he is a loyal soldier, as well as a Rider of the Mark, and he will let me live. But should Grima find out that I have let you in to see the prisoner, especially you being who you are … and he being who he is, I have no doubt that death for me will come swiftly. I’ll take my chances with Moldred.” The guard quieted a moment to let his words register before he continued, “As I said, I cannot let you in.”

Legolas waited to hear how Eowyn would respond, but it seemed she was no longer at an advantage. He felt a piece of him wither, knowing she was his only link, and that she might have possibly put herself in danger. “No,” he whispered to himself, feeling hapless. Then a voice floated down the corridor, one that made his skin crawl and his heart sink.

“Lady Eowyn, what might you be doing here … and at this late hour?”

Grima, Legolas thought, rage building, and his fingers curling into fists. His blood began to race, making his ears ring, but he had to maintain control so he could hear what was happening just outside of the jail.

“It is none of your business what I am doing here, Wormtongue,” she fired back.

“She requested visitation to the prisoner,” the guard said, coward that he was, “but was denied, Sir.”

“Why you—,” Eowyn snarled, “He has allowed me access to the cells before.”

“Is this true?” asked Grima, his voice threatening and oily.

“Perhaps another guard, Sir. I have my orders.”

“You sniveling rat!” Eowyn accused.

More footsteps approached the door, more guards. Grima waited until they were close, “You, see that the Lady Eowyn is escorted back to her quarters. I suggest that my lady keeps clear of the jail, unless she wants to find herself locked in her rooms.”

Legolas heard Eowyn give a resigning huff before she was silently led away. Then he heard Grima speak to the cowardly door guard, “You, inside, and you … come. I need to have a word with the elf.”

Keys rattled and the door opened. No light streamed in, but for that from the moon. Legolas felt the yearning of his woodland blood as he wished to bathe in that pale yellowish light, but he drew in his thoughts as Grima and two guards approached. The hunched over robed figure stopped outside of his cell. Thin white hands protruded from long black sleeves, lifted and drew back the hood from his head. Grima wore a sickly smile, as though he had won some game, “Still standing I see,” he said, “I had hoped you might not have the strength.”

“Where’s Eowyn?” Legolas asked. He was standing in the middle of his cell, hands at his sides, fists clenched as well as his jaw, and his eyes narrowed like two blue shards of a shattered gem.

“She is on her way back to her rooms where she will undoubtedly stay until I call for her. I could have her severely reprimanded, if I so choose.”

Legolas jumped at the bars of his cell, reaching his arms through as far as he could. Grima jumped back as the two guards raised their spears and pointed them at Legolas. “If you so much as lay a finger on her, I swear I’ll—”

“I don’t think you are in any position to be threating me. As a matter of fact, I think there needs to be more restrictions on you. No doubt you had something to do with summoning Eowyn.” Grima looked to the cowardly guard, “Chain him.”

“Me?” he quavered.

“Now!” Grima demanded, and the guard fidgeted with his keys as he unlocked the cell door.

The second guard stepped close to the open door, and thrust his spear at Legolas, but the elf did not move an inch, even with the sharp tip pressing into his chest. Both guards entered the cell. The second guard, who was much taller and broader than the first, kept a sharp eye on Legolas, ready to plunge his spear into the elf’s heart if he decided to make any sudden moves. The guards backed Legolas up against the back wall of the cell, where the chains and shackles hung. And all the while, Grima stood by with his gray eyes scanning the elf, watching to see what he would do. The cowardly guard fixed the metal cuffs onto Legolas’ wrists, checking them twice to make sure they were secure. Then he hurried away, stepping out of the small cell, and leaving the taller guard with his spear still in place awaiting orders from Grima.

“Is he secure?” Grima whispered to the door guard, and the man nodded. Then Grima straightened himself and walked into the cell, stopping next to the tall armed guard. The advisor leered at Legolas before he spoke, “Eowyn is so much like her brother, don’t you think? Neither one can obey a direct order, whether it is from the King or not. Those who do not comply must be punished.”

“Don’t you dare touch her,” Legolas seethed.

“What do you take me for? I would not harm a hair on her precious head, not when there are others who would take the punishment for her.” At this, Grima pulled a short whip from inside his long sleeve, shaking out the multiple knotted thongs. Nine tails, Legolas had heard the men call this type of whip. It was used for punishment, though he had never seen anyone in Rohan use one. The Southrons of the desert lands were quite fond of this kind of discipline, or so he had heard. Legolas wondered how Grima came to own such a whip.

As Grima approached, the tall guard pushed the spear further into Legolas’ chest. The elf could feel a drop of warm blood travel down his smooth skin. His shirt hung open as though offering his chest to the guard. Then he heard the low rumble of an evil laugh emanate from Grima, as his arm lifted the whip. It came swooping down onto Legolas’ chest.

Legolas would not give Grima the pleasure of knowing just how badly the nine tails stung. He barely flinched as the whip cut through his skin a second time and a third. Each stroke of the knotted throngs felt like fire as they produced red welts across his chest and stomach, crisscrossing in bloody lines. By the sixth stroke, though, Legolas could no longer deny the pain, and his knees buckled beneath him. He fell to the floor, only his shackled wrists kept him from completely collapsing.

The metallic smell of fresh blood touched his senses, and Legolas finally submitted as his face contorted in pain. Grima had stopped the flogging, and stood over Legolas, “You’ll not see her again.” He spun on his heel and left the cell, his black robes trailing behind him. The tall guard was the last to leave the cell, and the door guard locked the door; the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place seemed like one final blow of the whip.

Legolas was alone in the dark, chained to the wall. His open wounds bled and stung horribly. Each beat of his heart made the raw skin pulse with pain, and there were many, many wounds sliced across his chest and stomach. He hung his head as he sat on the floor, his arms extended upwards, and his wrists reminded of their earlier wounds. It wouldn’t take much for the pink scars to reopen, adding to his pain. How many days would he stay like this? How many days with no food or water to speak of? Eowyn, dear sweet Eowyn, he prayed she would be untouched. Théodred … Eomer … were they alright? Did they know what was happening in Edoras?

“Béma, see them all safe, even if it means my soul for theirs,” Legolas prayed silently before sleep took him, and for a time, he forgot about the pain.

* * *

Three days—at least he thought it was that long—and there was not a single person allowed into the jail. Legolas could hear the faint whispers of the door guards, but he could not make out what they said. He had no food or water during that time. There was no light, no fresh air, nothing but the musty smell of his cell and his own reek. Béma hadn’t intervened, and Legolas was alive, but weakened. Still, he held on to every ounce of energy, willing it towards his wounds in hopes of fast healing. He put the thought of food and water out of his mind, and merely thought of an escape plan. No one would come, he thought, until they came to hang him. That would be his only chance, and he would need everything within him to overpower the guards. One man, he knew he could handle. Two would be more difficult, but if he took the first one out quickly, perhaps he’d have just enough power to subdue the second. But should there be three or possibly more guards to escort him from the jail, his chance of escape would nearly be void.

As he sat, thinking to himself, the door of the jail creaked open. Legolas almost hadn’t heard it, so deep in thought he had been. Actually, it was the light beam that streamed in through the door that captured his attention first. Someone was coming, guards no doubt. Was this it? Were they coming to hang him already? Legolas could tell by the muted light, that it was early morning. Was that when hangings occurred?

Legolas lifted his head, and saw two armed figures standing outside of his cell, one very tall and the other shorter than the first. They were both dressed in full uniform, even wearing their helms with the horsehair plumes that flowed like a golden mane down the back. The shorter man flexed his gloved fingers, and danced back and forth from foot to foot. He seemed anxious about something. The tall man with the very broad shoulders, stood straight as a stone column, and seemed rather in control of his emotions. Legolas was most curious about the taller of the two. What was he playing at? There was something suspicious about the way he carried himself.

The shorter man looked Legolas over from outside of the cell, “Let’s get on with it then,” he said, and unlocked the door, “Grima said to make sure you don’t kill him, just beat him into submission. Got to keep him weakened, you know.”

The large guard lifted his hand, and with it, a thick wooden baton of some kind. He smacked it several times into the palm of his hand, as if testing its weight.

“I say you hit him in the knees first. That way he won’t try anything funny,” said the shorter man. He stood to the side, allowing room for the man with the weapon to come forward.

Legolas watched the broad shouldered guard, never lowering his eyes from the man. Neither one looked away as they locked stares. The guard grasped the baton firmly with both hands, and brought the weapon up, ready to swing at Legolas’ knees. Legolas was thinking quickly, trying to come up with a strategy or a move that would allow him to jump out of the way and avoid the hit, but the chains were hindering him.

The tall guard let out a low rumble of a laugh and, to Legolas’ surprise, gave the elf a wink. What was that about, he asked himself, and the guard swung the baton at him. Instead hitting Legolas, the baton swished past his legs and continued its path towards the other man, who was not paying attention. The weapon landed with a thud across the smaller guard’s stomach. He doubled over, in shock, as the breath escaped his lungs. Legolas was stunned, and watched the scene play out in front of him.

The shorter guard, coughed and wheezed as air filled his lungs again. He started to straighten himself and asked, “What do you think you’re—”

The big guard brought the baton over his head and swung it down onto the back of the other man’s neck, right at the base of his skull. The little weasel of a man fell to the floor, limp as a rag. Legolas peeled his eyes from the unconscious man and looked at the other, who was reaching for his helm. He pulled it from his head and revealed his identity. Legolas looked at him in disbelief.

“Gamling?”

“I might be an old man, but I’ve still got a strong swing, don’t you think?” Gamling said as he bent down and retrieved a set of keys from the man lying on the floor. He stood up straight and smiled at Legolas, “How are ye?”

“I’ve been better,” answered Legolas dryly, while Gamling removed the metal shackles. Legolas rubbed his wrists and looked Gamling over disbelievingly.

“Eowyn sent me, since she couldn’t come herself. We’re getting you out of here.” Gamling looked at Legolas’ chest and shook his head, “Whose handiwork was that?”

“Wormtongue,” Legolas said, and his tone was filled with vengeance.

“Those are some angry looking lashes, but I’m sure the lady will have something you can put on them. We won’t have much time to linger in the city though, so you’ll have to tend to your wounds on the run,” said Gamling observantly, “First things first though. We need to get you out of your clothes and into his.”

Legolas looked at the man on the floor and cocked a brow, “It may be a bit of a challenge,” he commented, noticing the man’s size.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t have my pick. It’ll have to do until I get you out of here. Eowyn is waiting for you, and then she’ll lead you out of the city.” As Gamling spoke, he started striping the other guard of his uniform.

Legolas didn’t like the sound of this plan, “Eowyn should not be involved in this. If someone catches her—”

Gamling laughed, “And you don’t think I tried to tell her that? Stubborn that one is. Just like Eomer, and both of them taking after their father. But they are good people, and I’d follow either of them into the fires of Mount Doom if they asked it of me.”

Legolas shrugged the shreds of his shirt off, wincing as he did. Gamling tossed him the guard’s undershirt and leather chest plates, a pair of boots and finally the metal helm. Legolas dressed as quickly as he could, but in the struggle to get the ill-fitting clothes on, some of his deeper wounds opened and started bleeding. Gamling came to his side and helped him into the armor, allowing Legolas to use him as support.

“What are they saying about me, Gamling?” Legolas asked.

Gamling was quiet at first. He had helped Legolas to sit on the cot and was trying to get the elf’s foot into a boot. Then he shook his head in disgust, “You won’t like it, but it is as ye might think. Not all of them believe, though. The Rohir are not persuaded so easily, and more than a few of us distrusted the woman that accused you of this mess. It’s the ones that fear Grima to be worried about, and most of them, I don’t think, aren’t Eorlingas.” Gamling paused, stopped what he was doing, and looked up at Legolas, “And I believe ye.”

“Thank you, Gamling.” said Legolas with relief.

He finished dressing, though the clothes were a bit small. It was good enough to get them out of the jail though. Legolas helped Gamling dress the unconscious guard in his old clothes, and then they shackled him to the wall. The man hung limp with his head lolled to one side. In the dark of the cell, no one could tell who he was at first, just in case someone checked. They hoped it would be enough to allow Legolas time to leave the city, and he wondered how they planned to manage that. 

Gamling had been wearing his green cloak, and he took it off, wrapping around Legolas to help hide his appearance. They had to walk past two door guards just outside the jail’s entrance. Before they left, Gamling nodded as he looked Legolas over, “It’ll do. Now, let me do all the talking if we must. And walk a bit hunched over, just to compensate for the other man’s height.”

“Where are we going?” Legolas asked, pulling the cloak tight around his shoulders, and adjusting his helm.

“Eowyn said she’d be at the royal stables. I don’t know what she has planned. She wouldn’t tell me, and I was only supposed to get you out of the jail.”

They were lucky to make it past the two door guards, and as they were walking down the path that led to the royal stables, they came upon another guard. Legolas put his head down and shrunk into his borrowed cape. He felt himself panic as the guard stopped in the middle of the path, and waited for them to approach. Legolas thought Gamling would change course to avoid the man, but they kept walking. This was a dangerous move, the elf thought. If this guard had any suspicions—

“Thank you, Gamling,” the guard said in an odd voice.

Gamling nodded and turned to the disguised elf, “Good luck, Legolas.” With that, Gamling separated and went on his way.

Legolas eyed his new guard, whispering, “Eowyn, is that you?”

“Yes,” she said. Then making her voice lower and gruffer she said, “You can call me Dernhelm.” 

“Where did you get the uniform?”

“It’s mine. I made it myself. Well, I made a few alterations to someone’s old uniform,” she smiled beneath her helm, and led Legolas further down the path toward the royal stables. She looked around to make sure no one was close. “Now, I’ve got your things all gathered, your long knives and bow, your elvish clothes, food for a few days travel, a water skin,” she said as she checked off her mental list, “Oh, and Arod is waiting just outside of the city wall … you know, where the loose boards are behind the storage barns. He’s packed and ready. Gamling is going right now, to distract the wall guards in that area so that you can ride out. Head for that stand of trees first. It will help keep you out of sight. Then head for Aldburg where Eomer is stationed and—”

Legolas stopped walking. His head was swimming with everything Eowyn was telling him, “Wait, Eowyn, I can’t just leave you here. I swore to look after you.”

Eowyn gave him a cynical look, “I’ve been on my own ever since you were locked up. I can handle myself, Legolas. Besides, you cannot possibly stay here, and I will not leave my uncle in Wormtongue’s greasy hands.” As she spoke, she couldn’t help noticing red blotches spreading out from the edges of Legolas’ leather vest. The vest was not fastened in the front, and she reached out and moved it aside, seeing blood on his undershirt, “Oh Legolas, you’re hurt!” He started to protest but she waved a hand at him, “We must get out of the public eye. Let’s get to the stables, and then I’ll fetch some bandages and salve.”

“You can’t go walking around Edoras like this. You do realize you are a bit smaller than the average guard,” Legolas said as they hurried to the stables. Meduseld was just behind them. He thought he could easily sneak in, find some healing supplies and sneak out again.

They arrived at the royal stables and went inside. It was quiet at this time of day. The morning chores were taken care of, and most of the horses were either with their riders or out in the fields. Eowyn pulled her helm from her head, her hair a wild mess. Legolas laughed, “I think you’d have a much better chance of not raising suspicions with the helmet on.”

Eowyn gave him a good once over, now that they were alone. She pointed to the sleeves of his shirt that only came part way to his wrists, “You look like your clothes were left boiling in the laundry kettles a little too long.”

Legolas could see she was going to be difficult about this, and quickly devised a plan, “You said you retrieved my weapons, clothes and food. Did you happen to get my book?”

“What book?”

“My elvish book, the one I showed you.” he answered.

“There wasn’t enough time. I could only get so much before someone saw me in your rooms.”

“I cannot leave without it. It is very important to me. It’s all I have of my home, of my family and Elhadron,” he said.

“Where is it then? I’ll get it while I’m fetching medicine.”

Legolas shook his head and glanced out of the stable door towards Meduseld, “I must get it myself. It will take you too long. You get the medicine and I’ll sneak into my room and get my book.”

“Leave the book, Legolas. We haven’t time. In case you haven’t noticed, you have escaped from the cells. It won’t take them long to figured that out,” Eowyn argued.

There was no use continuing their dispute. Legolas knew Eowyn would not budge on the matter. He needed to create a diversion. “I cannot just leave that behind. I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back and—” He stopped and peered over her shoulder.

Eowyn stood stiff as a board, her eyes trained on Legolas, “What? What is it? Is someone coming?”

“I don’t know. I thought I heard something at the back of the stable. Quick, put your helmet back on,” Legolas demanded.

Eowyn started fumbling with her helm, trying to get it on in a hurry. While she did, Legolas darted out of the stable towards Meduseld. He could just imagine the look she would give him when he came back, but he just couldn’t let her get any more involved than she already was. Legolas felt bad that she had done what she did so far. Wounds would heal, but Eowyn’s safety was most important. And he was serious about his book too. He just couldn’t leave it behind. It was all he had of his elvishness.

Legolas was already well out of sight when he heard the stable door close, but he did not look back. He snuck around to the side door that he, Eomer and Théodred used to use after spending an evening at the mead hall. He would miss those days, and now he realized that he might never see those times again. He might not ever return to Edoras, or make things right and clear his name.

While these things ran through his mind, Legolas quietly slipped through the darkened corridors of the Golden Hall, taking extra care to stay clear of Grima’s quarters. They were on the other side of the hall, though, and Legolas was still dressed in uniform, should he come across someone. The door to his room was not locked and he slid inside, closing it behind him.

Everything looked the same. He had been afraid of what he might find. The door to his closet was slightly ajar, but he could see where some of his clothes were missing, the ones Eowyn packed for him. His brown legging, suede jerkin, and boots were not there. A few white undershirts were gone too. Legolas smiled to himself, thinking of the care Eowyn took in choosing all things elvish. Did she mean for him to not come back to Rohan? Perhaps she was only being cautious.

Behind the tall wooden closet, that’s where he’d hid his book. He was always very careful not to leave it out. It was very old, though sturdily made, but he did not want Grima or any of his henchmen getting a hold of it and destroying it. He squat down on his knees and reached an arm behind the wardrobe. Ah, right where he had left it, he thought, as his fingers brushed over the smooth leather. Legolas pulled it free and thumbed through it quickly. Just the sight of the elvish runes cured his ails, though it would take more than that to heal the deep lashes across his chest. They hurt terribly, but he ignored the pain as best he could. There would be time later to tend himself.

Legolas stood by his bed and traced a finger along the post at the corner. Thick wooden columns reached to the ceiling, each one with a horse’s head carved at the top. Rohan, he would miss it dearly. If only it hadn’t come to this. If only he had stayed clear of … of Róta. While in his cell, he had managed to put her and that night out of his head, but suddenly he was back in her room with the smell of burning lanterns and sweaty bodies, the aura of urgent sex and the sound of bones cracking. He remembered wanting to throw her off him, but his animalistic desire ruled his body, calling forth his seed, spilled into her as she cried out in pain … the pain he’d caused when he hit her. Had she really liked it or had she only used him for her purpose. Something told him it was a bit of both. Never again, he told himself, never would he let himself become so sexually crazed with an unhealthy lust. It would only lead to trouble.

Legolas was pulled from his thoughts when he heard voices coming down the hallway, women’s voices, as they chatted. It must be the servants, he thought. If they came into his room and saw him here—

The room was small and there was nowhere to hide. There was only one place to go, and he couldn’t do that while wearing his leather vest. He quickly shrugged the thick leatherwear from his body and slid it beneath his bed. He looked down to see several bloody patches on his shirt where his wounds had broken open. He would definitely need that salve, fearing infection. No time to think about that now, Legolas went to the window in his room, opened it and hopped out onto the ledge. He left the window open just a crack, in order to get back in once the servants left. He wondered why they would come to his room, knowing that he was not there. They had no business being in his personal quarters.

“So this is it?” said one of the servants. Legolas recognized her voice, though he did not know her personally. Hallfrid was one of Meduseld’s servers, usually tending to Théoden, at least she used to before the King became ill.

“We can’t stay in here for very long, Hallfrid,” said the other servant. Legolas knew her quite well. In fact, this voice belonged to Audwyn.

“Calm yourself. I only wanted to know what his room looked like,” Hallfrid said as she walked around touching things, picking them up and setting them back down, “Doesn’t look like the room of a rapist.”

“I still refuse to believe it’s true. Legolas would never have done anything so vile,” Audwyn defended.

“You should know, shouldn’t you? So how many times did you lay with him?” Hallfrid asked.

“That’s a rather bold question. I don’t know. I did not keep count,” Audwyn answered sounding slightly perturbed.

“Did he ever … you know … do anything … rough?”

Audwyn gave an audible huff, “I didn’t bring you here to ask me about my personal business. You wanted to see his room so here you are and . . . Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

Legolas dared to peek into the window and saw the two women standing beside his bed. His book, he had left it lying there. His heart began to pound as Hallfrid picked it up and started carelessly turning the pages, “What’s this, elvish writing perhaps? I’ve never seen the like. It is quite elegant, is it not?”

“I’ve seen that book once before. I saw him reading it to the Lady Eowyn,” Audwyn informed her nosey friend.

“Do you think it has any great value?” Hallfrid asked.

“Doubtful. The elves have many books,” Audwyn looked at her curiously, “Why do you ask?”

“You really have no idea why we are here, do you?” Hallfrid said as if she pitied her friend, “What do you think they do with someone’s possessions after they are gone, especially someone with no family? I’m here to collect what I can before anyone else gets to it. All of this,” she said looking around the room, “will be scavenged when they come to empty the room. I want what I feel I am owed. Ever since the King has fallen ill, there has been no work for me, and now the city is falling into ruin. I’ve come to compensate myself before the rest of the wretches get to it, and then I’m leaving Edoras to start a new life somewhere else.”

Audwyn looked at her friend as though she were a stranger, “But it is not yours to take. It belongs to Legolas.”

“And he will be dead in the morning. He won’t be needing it any longer, so why let it go to waste?” Hallfrid took Audwyn’s hands and squeezed with concern, “You were his maid, as well as other things. Have you given no thought to your welfare once Legolas is hung? I’ll tell you what, I will share my bounty with you. You can come with me if you like. We’ll start over somewhere new together.” Hallfrid stopped talking when something caught her eye, a shiny silver belt hung by the wardrobe. She dropped Audwyn’s hands and rushed to the flashing object, “Do you think this is mithril? I bet it would fetch a fat purse.”

Audwyn snatched the belt from Hallfrid’s hands, “This is wrong, and I will not take part in it.”

Hallfrid’s countenance changed from awe to irritation, “You still pine for the elf, don’t you? That will do you no good when he is dead. And besides, you must know that nothing would have come from this. You were no more than his bed warmer. You lay with him, and Béma knows that in itself must have been a notable gift, but it wouldn’t have kept a roof over your head. Women like us won’t get ahead unless we take such opportunities as this.”

“You speak as though he were already in the grave. No, this is immoral and I will not let you—”

Hallfrid gasped, interrupting Audwyn, “Someone is coming!”

Legolas moved away from the open window, clinging to the ledge. Thankfully, someone had cut short their meddling. At least Audwyn tried to defend him, though he wasn’t completely convinced that she believed his innocence. As for his belongings, he wasn’t much concerned about anything but his book, and they had abandoned that.

The voices inside the room were gone now, and he hoped the women were too. He dared another peek, finding it empty, and the door closed, but his mithril belt was missing. Legolas stole back inside his room, carefully navigating the table beneath the window. He picked up his book, tucked it under his arm and—after carefully checking to see that the hallway was clear—left his private quarters, probably for the last time.

Whoever the women heard was long gone and so were they. Legolas walked cautiously, his ears attuned to any noises. He exited the hallway, and was about to make his was back to the side entrance, when he heard a muffled voice speaking. It sounded like a one way conversation, and he was curious of the strange tone the person took. Legolas knew he should leave and get back to the stable where he hoped Eowyn still waited for him, but he could not help himself, finding his feet leading him along the back wall of the throne room towards the hall that housed Théodred’s rooms, as well as King Théoden’s. The voice was coming from the King’s private quarters, but it was not Théoden’s voice. No one had heard the King speak in quite some time. There was no mistaking whom the voice belonged to … Grima. Legolas thought his beating heart would give him away, and took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

As an elfling, he had been scared of the orcs who invaded his home, the spider and the warg that attacked him and Elhadron. As a youth the bear man had terrified him as it came barreling down upon him. But hearing Grima’s scaly hiss evoked nothing but anger. He could feel his wounds throbbing, as though the leather throngs had just cut his flesh. This man had done it with satisfaction, had flogged him for a crime he was not guilty of, meant to end his life, and harm those who had become his family over the years.

Legolas looked into the crack of the door, and found Grima with his back turned, standing by a table pouring a glass of something amber, the King’s brandy. Théoden must be there also, though he was not in Legolas’ line of sight. Grima laughed low in his throat as he held the glass up to a candle flame and swirled the rich drink.

“Yes, my lord, the elf is taken care of. The other two have not returned to the city, though. I should like to see their faces as the guards take them to the cells,” Grima said.

Legolas wondered who he was talking to. Surely, Théoden would not possibly agree to such treatment of his son and sister-son. There came an elderly weakened moan from somewhere in the room, and Legolas was shocked to find it was coming from the King, but it was not his. The door pushed open a bit more so the elf could see for himself. It was Théoden, but it was not. He could see that the decrepit old man showed signs of being the King, but he was merely a vessel now, the spirit of the Rohirrim King absent from the body that sat slumped in the chair.

“It is almost done, Grima. The Isengarders will strike at the Fords of Isen where the King’s son patrols. As for Eomer, he does not stay in one place for very long, but he’ll be found.” This voice was unfamiliar to Legolas, though the tone was that of a very old Théoden. The words were not that of the King, but like those of someone speaking through him. There was a sickly moan, and the voice spoke again, “Hurry, man, before he comes around. Keep him in a fog and let me take over his mind.”

Legolas watched as Grima brought his right hand up, and held it over the glass of brandy. There was a ring on the index finger, a horse’s head with red gems for eyes. Grima circled the ring with the thumb of his opposite hand, and slid the horse head to the side. Then he tilted the hand and white powder dropped into the drink. Grima slid the horse head back into place, rubbed the ring again and picked up the glass, giving it a swirl to dissolve the powder.

Théoden moaned and tried to sit himself up a little more. Legolas could see the light return to his eyes, the soul coming into focus briefly, as he looked at Grima. Wormtongue smiled slightly, carrying the glass to the King, “Drink this, and you will feel much better.” He held the glass to Théoden’s lips and tilted it until the liquid touched them. The King had no choice but to drink, or have it spill down his chin. Théoden was given too much too fast and choked, his lungs wheezing as he tried to catch his breath.

“Very good, Sire. Your favorite brandy, just the thing, don’t you think?” Grima said, and took the drained glass away. He went back towards the table that held the decanter, but paused at a shelf, his gray eyes directed to a familiar object laying upon it … the dagger that Róta had shown to the soldiers at the mead hall.

Legolas memory came racing back. He had forgotten this one piece of the puzzle. Róta was hired to make a collection piece for King Théoden, though Legolas never knew the Rohirric King to own any such thing. The only weapons the Rohirrim owned where those that they used in battle, which they took great pride in. This was only a dagger, though quite extravagant at that. He had eyed it before, in the tavern, but hadn’t concentrated on it. Now Legolas could see that it had runes on the blade, but not elvish ones. These were runes of the black speech, and certainly nothing that King Théoden would allow into his city, let alone collect. Legolas was unfamiliar with this language, written or spoken, but he memorized a few of the runes from the blade, hoping to find out what they meant.

Legolas almost forgot that he was standing in the doorway and quickly ducked out of sight as Grima turned to replace the glass on the table. The man’s steps stilled, and Legolas felt him staring at the threshold. The glass was set down rather hard, as if in annoyance. The elf realized that he must pass the doorway in order to exit the hall, or risk being caught spying, not to mention jailbreak. There was no time to waste, and Legolas reached for his cloak, remembering he was not wearing one. Looking down, panic struck him when he saw that he had left the leather vest of his uniform hidden beneath the bed in his room. He cursed himself for his carelessness, held his breath, and dashed past the doorway in a flash of gold. He hoped Grima hadn’t been looking in that direction, as he hurried down the hallway. He reached the corner and dared a glance over his shoulder, seeing the dark outline of a black cloak silhouetted against the doorframe. Shit, he thought, the old worm had seen him.

Grima had felt the sensation of being watched, but he thought it was connected to the oddness of Saruman’s visit. The old wizard had only performed this magic twice before, channeling Théoden’s mind to speak to Grima. The man felt very uncomfortable with these visits. Théoden looked like a corpse returned from the dead, and his voice was not his own. Even his features seemed to contort and take on those of Saruman’s. It was a very disturbing thing to witness, and dangerous if someone should walk in on them. But Saruman had retreated from the King’s body, and the awkwardness of the black magic had left with him. Whatever Grima had sensed was something different, something worth looking into. When he looked out into the hall, he thought he had seen a shadow disappear at the corner of the corridor. Someone had been there though, and he meant to find out whom, and quickly. He rushed down the hallway that opened into the Golden hall. No one was at the dais or in the gathering hall, but movement caught his eye, and he thought he saw one of the guards leaving through the side entrance.

“You there, guard, your assistance is needed,” Grima called out, but no one came back through the slowly closing door. The man narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and walked quickly to the main doors, calling upon his henchmen, “You, go and check around the side. See if you find anyone. And you, search the rooms for anything that might be out of place. I think we have a spy in our midst.”

The door guards split up and went off to perform their duties, while Grima went back to Théoden. Nothing was amiss, and whoever had been here had obviously left. Had they seen or heard anything? He waited, pacing the floor at the bottom of the dais, anxious for the guards to return. The side door opened, and the first guard returned with no news. Then the second guard came rushing from the hallway where the King’s family resided, holding a red leather uniform vest in his hands, “Mi lord, I found this in the elf’s room, the corner of it sticking out from beneath the bed.”

Grima snatched it from the guard’s hands and examined it quickly, “Whose is this, do you know?”

The first guard looked it over carefully, “I believe that belongs to Ardis, Sir.”

Flustered, Grima hadn’t recognized the name at first, not until the guard reminded him, “You sent him to the cells to … interrogate … the prisoner … Sir,” he said cautiously.

Nothing worse could have happened, lest the gods themselves had come down and crushed Rohan and Grima along with it. A sense of urgency and anger built up, and color rose in the man’s normally pale complexion. He threw the vest at the guard, and shook his fisted hands, “The elf, damn him … go to the cells at once,” he bellowed, his menacing voice ringing in the Golden hall.

The guards took off immediately, while Grima followed at his own pace, his tattered black robe fluttering and curling as it chased after him. He walked the short distance to the stairs that led beneath Meduseld, descended into the darkness through the open door and into the jail. The door guards were already there, standing at the locked cell where Legolas had been held, but it was not the elf that Grima found chained to the wall.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Ardis said in a mousy voice, “I was tricked.”

“And you’ll be dead if the elf has escaped the city,” Grima spat. Then he turned to his henchmen and commanded, “Go now! What are you waiting for? Seal all the gates. No one goes in or out. And if you find that immortal scum, kill him on sight.”

The guards were already out the door before Grima could finish his orders. Grima was trailing towards the door himself, when Ardis called from the cell, “Might you release me, my lord, to help with the search?”

“You’ll stay right where you are. I’ll come back for you … with a noose for your scrawny little neck.” Grima slammed the jail door behind him, and marched off hoping Legolas hadn’t left the city yet, “I’ll chase him to the ends of the earth if I have to. He’s seen things he should not have seen, and heard things he had no business hearing. Damn the elves! Damn them all!”


	24. On Open Plains

Legolas burst through the main doors of the royal stable, making Eowyn jump out of her skin. Her helm, two sizes too big, fell forward over her eyes, and she scrambled to recover her sight, relieved that it was Legolas at last.

“You went back for that blasted book, didn’t you?” she berated him, “Damnit, Legolas, of all the idiotic, careless—”

Legolas rushed towards her, grabbing her arm and pulling her along with him, “No time to talk about it. We’ll have company soon.”

As she was dragged along the length of the stable, she noticed that he was out of uniform, “Where’s your vest? How do you expect to walk through the city unnoticed?”

“Oh, don’t suppose we’ll be able to take that nice walk now. Grima’s men are on their way.”

“What?!” she exclaimed.

They had reached the opposite end of the stable. It was primarily used for housing extra hay, and there was an open room where equipment hung. Legolas knew there was a back door in the storage room, and he dragged Eowyn in there, stopping to catch his breath. He took a moment to observe Eowyn in her makeshift armor, ill fitting, but done well enough not to raise suspicions. He smiled and lifted the helm from her head, then smoothed her messy hair from her face, “Don’t let anyone find you dressed like this … Dernhelm,” he said, adding the last part with humor in his voice.

Eowyn found nothing humorous about their situation, but Legolas had always been able to switch his behavior much too easily. He did this now as his smile disappeared and his eyes darkened, “Listen to me, Eowyn. You must stay away from Grima, and never allow yourself to be caught alone with him. He’s very dangerous, and he’s playing with magic that he should never be allowed to touch.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked with her brow furrowed in concern.

“Grima wears a ring, a horse’s head with ruby eyes. It’s a vessel of some kind, and contains a white powder that he gives to Théoden. He’s not only poisoning the King, he is assisting Saruman the White. Together they ruin Rohan.”

“Did you see this, Legolas?”

“I saw Théoden speak, but it was not his voice that came from his mouth. Something dark has befallen the King. He is sealed in a spell, one that I am not sure anyone can free him from, unless Saruman can be dealt with.” Legolas paused when he heard a noise from the front of the stable, but it was only a cat knocking something from the windowsill. He turned back to Eowyn and continued, “Grima will know by now that I’ve escaped. Do not let him know you had anything to do with it. I fear what wrath he may set upon you.” He put his hand on his stomach and winced, “I’ve already seen his wrath.”

“Legolas, you must get to Eomer or Théodred. Tell them what you’ve told me,” she said, her words rushing together in haste.

“I already plan on doing that. Théodred will know what to do. I won’t be surprised if all Rohan’s forces are sent to Isengard. One way or another, we’ll get Théoden back.”

There were distant voices, Legolas could hear them with his heighten senses. He looked up and away, listening to their urgency, “They’re coming. I must go, but … Eowyn … I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to return to Edoras.”

Eowyn smiled, but her eyes still held the fear she felt in her heart, “You’ll return. I know you will. Grima’s lies will be exposed, and you’ll be cleared of this wrong doing.” By now, the guards were close enough that Eowyn could hear them, “Go! Hurry!”

Legolas kissed her forehead and turned for the door, but Eowyn called out to him and he stopped, “I almost forgot.” She pulled a small jar from inside her vest and handed it to Legolas, “For your wounds.” She laid her hand over his and looked up into his face, taking in every feature and setting it to memory. Then she released him and he turned to the door, “Oh, and Arod is near the woods, at least I hope he is.”

With all the excitement, Legolas had forgotten about medicine for the slashes across his chest. The blood on his shirt had dried to a dark brown, and the cotton material had stiffened. He took the jar and stuffed it into the pocket of his trousers. Then he tucked his book under his arm and bowed to Eowyn. Without another word, Legolas exited through the door, leaving Eowyn on her own, and hoping she would be alright. Before he got too far, he looked back to find her standing in the doorway, “Remember your training, Shield maiden of Rohan,” he called over his shoulder, and disappeared between buildings.

* * *

“Over there! There he is,” someone shouted from behind.

Legolas had been weaving his way between houses and stores, trying to make his way out of the city. He had stopped behind a baker’s shop, but had stayed too long, and someone glimpsed him. Off he went, dashing behind another store, stopping, checking his surroundings, and sprinting to the next refuge. The guards were catching up. There were several men flanking left and a few to the right. They were trying to cut off his path and corner him. It seemed to be working too. Legolas’ chest was bleeding again, though less than before. It still hurt tremendously, and slowed him down, but he must keep going.

He was running once more, this time between thatched houses. There were more obstacles in his way, fences, wood pilings, hay stacks. More obstacles for his pursuers too, he thought, and more places to hide when the guards got too close. Legolas was hiding behind a stack of hay bales, listening as booted feet ran past him, but he misjudged the timing. When he jumped out of his hiding place, he ran right into one of Grima’s men. They locked eyes for what seemed like an eternity, neither one sure what to do. Legolas noticed that the man had olive skin, thick black eyebrows, and he was missing several teeth. Dunlendings, the elf thought. So that’s who Grima was able to sway into joining his cause. Of course, it all made sense. Ancient enemies of Rohan, they still held a grudge for something that happened generations before. Similarly built, they could easily blend into Rohirric society and pass as men from the Westfold.

The man opened his mouth to shout his findings, but Legolas butted him with his head, and the man stumbled backwards, falling to the ground.

“Hey!” someone shouted, and Legolas looked up to see another guard rushing towards him, sword in hand.

Legolas took off once more, and didn’t look back. He knew the men were following him.

He finally made it to the storage area of Edoras where a row of feed sheds stood close to the protective wall of the city. He was almost there, to that secret place where he, Théodred and Eomer used to come to escape city life … where he used to bring Lúta so they could disappear from suspicious eyes, and find refuge within the small stand of trees. He’d never thought it would mean his escape from certain death.

Legolas could hear the men behind him, shouting to each other as well as anyone they passed, recruiting some of the villagers along the way. Escapee, they shouted. Stop the prisoner, others yelled. Legolas ducked behind one shed to catch his breath. He looked around, spotted the board with the giant knot missing, and counted ten over. That was it! That’s where the loose board was. That was his escape.

He made a mad dash for it, reached his arm out as he approached, but he was suddenly hit in the head and knocked to the ground. He saw his book skip across the ground and come to rest beside a large barrel. His head was spinning, as tiny sparks flashed before his eyes, and he was afraid he might black out. Was it a guard then? Had they managed to catch him? 

The sun was high and shining down upon him, but now he was cast in shadow. All Legolas could see was the black silhouette of a man blocking out the sun behind his broad form. He could tell that the man wasn’t in uniform. He wore a loose shirt and field pants … a farmer, not one of the armed guards. 

Legolas shook his head, trying to regain his equilibrium. The guards were close.

“You’re that prisoner they’re shouting about,” the man stated, his voice low so no one would hear.

Legolas nodded. There was nothing else he could do. His fate was in this man’s hands, “They’ll kill me on the spot if they reach me. Will you have my blood on your hands, Sir?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I got my hands dirty,” the man said grimly. He shifted his weight, and cocked his head to one side, “Why should I help you?”

“I don’t ask for help, Sir, just that you not interfere,” Legolas pleaded.

The farmer said nothing, nor did he move an inch, but his black silhouette hovered above the elf like a Doomsman. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “I’ve heard all the talk, heard what they say about what you did. I have a daughter, you know, and I couldn’t help myself thinking. What if it had been her? What might I do to a man who’d molested her? I’ve never had to think of that before now. Rohan has always felt safe for me and my own. Now, it feels that the evil that dwells beyond these walls has seeped inside, and none of us are safe.”

There was more truth to that statement than the man could know, but it was not Legolas who had brought the evil. However, he would not say it aloud. The farmer was not concerned about anyone but Legolas at the moment. He could claim is innocence, but would that matter? It was his word against the beliefs of a whole village. The odds were against him.

“You have one thing in your favor though,” the farmer continued, “I know a few things about your kind. I’m not ignorant to other races, and I know that it should not be within you to do such blasphemy. But then, the same thing could be said about murdering your own kind, and as legend has it, murder has happened between elves. Kinslaying they called it, and because of that, I know that the elvish heart can be subject to corruption.”

Legolas’ head was not swimming anymore, and he got to one knee, but he did not stand. He remained subservient to the farmer. Meanwhile, the shouts of the guards were closing in on him, “I have played witness to corruption, though it has not bent my will. I am of strong mind. I know the truth of my convictions, and should you hand me to the guards and I’m hung, then I will die knowing I will be judged properly before my own.” Legolas remained on his knee, and bent his head, “You see me as a threat, and I am not sure that I can convince you otherwise, Sir.” Legolas gave an audible sigh, “Alright then, my life in exchange for the assurance that your daughter might be safe.”

They remained silent as the shouts of the guards came closer. Finally, the man reached out a hand to Legolas. The elf looked at the offered hand, seeing the years of callouses upon the worn palm. Then he took it, and the man helped him to his feet. With the sun no longer obscuring his vision, he could see the man better. He was aged, though probably not as old as he looked, with deep set lines across his forehead and around his mouth and eyes. His skin was brown and leathery from years of working beneath the open skies. But it was his eyes, that Legolas noticed most, and the one thing he concentrated on now. The man had a look of honesty and pride about him, and he hoped he would judge Legolas justly.

“Did you do it? Did you rape that woman?” the man asked bluntly.

Legolas did not look away from the man’s weathered eyes. He did not blink and barely breathed as he answered, “No, Sir, I did not,” he answered, each word stated precise and clear.

After another long silence, the man nodded his head once, “Go on then. I’ll tell ‘em you’ve not come this direction.”

Legolas never broke his stare with the man, and it was the farmer who turned first, walking away as if they’d never spoken to each other. Legolas wanted to thank him, to do something for sparing his life, but he knew the man wanted no such gratitude. Instead, he retrieved his book, turned to the wall and sprinted to the loose board.

“You there, man, have you seen him?” Legolas heard a guard shout to the old farmer, but he never heard the answer. The man spoke softly, but he knew what he’d say. The sound of men running, their armor clanking as they went, moved further away.

Legolas pushed the board aside and slipped through the wall.

* * *

There were no guard towers in this area of the wall, and as they were positioned, a person could not be seen if they stayed close to the wall. Venture out towards the plains, and someone would definitely be spotted.

Legolas cautiously made his way along the outer wall of the city, remembering what Eowyn said about Gamling ‘taking care of the wall guards.’ That plan might have been ruined once the news of Legolas’ escape was known. Security would double for sure, and he had taken longer than accounted for. For now, he just concentrated on getting to Arod. The horse was somewhere close to the small forest, packed and ready to go. Legolas knew he had one of the swiftest horses in Rohan. If no one was right on his tail, he could ride off quickly and get some distance between him and the guards who would no doubt come searching for him.

He thought about that a moment. Eowyn had told him to go to her brother. Legolas was beginning to think that wasn’t a good idea. Surely, Grima would send his men out to Aldburg, thinking that Legolas would naturally go there to hide or ask for help from Eomer. For the same reasons, he shouldn’t go to Théodred’s station at the Fords of Isen either. But they needed to know what was happening to Théoden. They needed to know what he saw … the horse ring and the powder, the strange possession by Saruman, and the warrant on both of their heads, should either Eomer or Théodred step foot in the city again. Eowyn said she had sent Gellír—the young boy she employed at her uncle’s house—with a message of warning to Eomer, but he’d never returned. Legolas paused his thoughts a moment to say a word of protection for the boy, and then resumed his planning.

Perhaps he shouldn’t go straight to either camp. He could instead hide on the outskirts and see what was happening within. He was blessed with the stealth of the elves and could easily observe without being seen. He’d move by night, take refuge by day. He needed to know that his friends’ minds weren’t overridden as Théoden’s was, or that they were still in command of their armies. No use walking into a trap that he was sure he would not be able to get out of. 

The Gap of Rohan, where Théodred patrolled, seemed to be the wisest choice about where to go first. He was, after all, the Prince, and notifying the King’s son seemed of utmost importance. Word could be sent to Eomer once Legolas found things well at Théodred’s camp. It would be easier to hide there too, while he made his assessments before exposing his whereabouts. There were rocky outcrops scattered here and there that would offer better harborage. Besides, Eomer was often absent from Aldburg, taking to roaming the countryside in search of orc armies. The possibility of finding Eomer at his camp was slim, and Legolas needed to relay his information. Théodred, however, had once said that his own men were under assault often, and therefore, he would not venture far from his post.

By the time Legolas reached the stand of trees, he’d made up his mind to go to the west and seek out Théodred, just as soon as he found his horse. It did not take long, though. Arod was standing along the edge of the trees, grazing on a patch of wild grass. His ears twitched and lay back as he listened to the sound of approaching feet. Legolas gave a familiar whistle, and the horse raised its head.

“Arod,” he called, but not too loud, “Na vedui!” At last!

Arod whickered softly, nodded his head up and down, and stomped his front foot on the leaf littered ground with joyful reception.

Legolas smiled and patted the horse’s neck and shoulders, “I’ve missed you too.” He looked over the saddle and the bags; it was just as Eowyn had said. 

“Packed and ready, I see,” he said as he checked the saddle’s straps, finding them secure. He opened one of the bags and found his elvish attire all neatly packed, and wondered whether he should dress first, but decided not to. Instead, he put his book, which he managed to keep safe during his escape, into the bag and buckled it back. Legolas was still partly dressed in Rohirrim attire that might help disguise him as he made away from Edoras. Once he was within sight of the wall guards, though, he would be exposed and would deal with the results later. Had Gamling succeeded in getting the guards to look away as he rode out? Only time would tell—that and any shouts that his exquisite hearing might pick up.

He mounted, but not as gracefully as was normal for an elf. The wounds on his chest burned and itched now, and he feared septicity. Elves healed quicker than humans did, but they were susceptible to infection without the aid of medicines, especially wounds that had gone long without care. No time, he thought to himself. He would just have to suffer the pain until he thought it was safe to stop for a reprieve. For now, all he could think about was getting as far from Edoras and Grima as possible. With that thought, Legolas took up his bow and quiver, carefully attached to the saddle gear, as well as his two long knives, and strapped his weapons to his person. He had no doubt he would put these to use before too long.

Legolas looked around the small forest, finding the large old oak with the makeshift ladder rungs nailed to its trunk. He looked up into the tree’s canopy, knowing the old flet was still up there, somewhere well hidden from sight. He gave a quick thought of Théodred, Eomer and himself as youths, hiding in the tree with their lot of stolen goods, usually dried meats and ale, or better beverage … if they happened to be lucky. Those were such good days with his adopted brothers, free of worry and war. Their only concern was getting out of the tree without breaking bones after consuming their loot and feeling gloriously inebriated.

Then, his thoughts turned to Lúta, and their precious time spent alone together in the safety of the tree, seizing the joy of desire and young love, satisfying curiosity and craving.

Legolas found himself, yet again, on the verge of another journey. Well, he thought, he could not stay in Rohan forever, now could he? He would have liked to leave on better terms, but—

Before his thoughts turned dark from recent events that led to his current situation, Legolas turned his vision from the tree, to the open plain that lay before him. He took a deep breath, said a silent word to Béma that he might watch over him, as well as his friends, and gave Arod the signal to move forward. Horse and rider charged out from the tree line, a spray of dirt and grass in their wake.

* * *

Legolas was not surprised to hear shouts in the distance, but glanced over his shoulder anyways. He was too far away to make out faces, but he could see silver helms glittering in the sun, and see guards pointing in his direction before calling to other men. Word spread like fire through dry grass, and figures rushed back and forth. Grima’s men would follow soon. Legolas could see in his mind, the men flying from the main gates in pursuit. He leaned forward, feeling as though this made Arod run swifter, “Hortho!” he commanded in his native tongue. Hurry! 

He felt Arod’s muscles tighten and his speed increase. There was nothing for it now. Legolas was out on the open plains with no protection, save his own. He seethed as he thought of Grima and all he had done to ruin him. Yet, like a coward, the witless man left it up to others to fight for him, to chase him down and kill him. Had Grima ordered them to bring his lifeless body back as proof or perhaps a fresh scalping of long flaxen hair that the old worm would display to the villagers as a means of dissuasion? 

“You’ll not get Rohan,” Legolas murmured into the rushing wind. “I’ll come for you, Grima.”

He allowed another glance back at the shrinking city, and was struck with awe at the sight of the gilded roof of Meduseld shining under the bright cloudless sky. Edoras still looked strong and proud from a distance. From this view, it hadn’t yet tarnished, not like the hearts and minds of some of its people. Most people still held out hope for the return of their ailing king. The glittering of that thatched roof filled Legolas with need to see things set straight.

Something else caught his eye, before he turned from his adoptive home, a cloud of dust that soon elongated and moved in his direction. Grima’s men had been sent out, and they would chase him until he was caught. Legolas released his bow from its holder and grasped it tightly in his hand. The pursuit was on then.

The first arrow almost went by unnoticed. The rushing of wind in Legolas’ ears nearly drowned the sound of the arrow whizzing by. It had gone far to the left though, and he caught sight of a brown fletching as it passed. Legolas reached over his shoulder and brought one of his own arrows to his bow, twisted at the waist, and looked behind. Before firing, he counted heads. There seemed to be about eight men behind him. Only eight, he thought. That must have been all that Grima could spare. Legolas laughed to himself as he brought his bow up and aimed, “Eight who will not return to their master.”

He stood in his stir ups and steadied his upper body as he’d been taught. Firing a bow was difficult. Firing a bow while riding horseback took skill and expertise, and Legolas was an accomplished bowman. He proved that by lodging an arrow in the neck of his first victim. The man slipped from his ride, the lifeless body tumbling, arms and legs tangling as he rolled and came to a stop. His riderless horse veered away from the group, slowed and fell back. The rest, he could see, urged their horses to quicken and began slowly closing the distance.

Legolas turned to the front, laid his hand upon Arod’s neck and calmly gave him orders to be swift. The horse’s ears tightened down, and Legolas felt him adjust his breathing in time with his quickening steps. The elf hunched down, contouring to the horse’s back and neck to lessen his resistance to the wind, and felt themselves pull away from their enemies.

Rider and horse were feeling the advantage, quite sure they were gaining ground, when suddenly, Arod’s whole body shifted, almost throwing Legolas off. The animal began to slow, favoring his right side. He had stumbled for some reason, and Legolas thought he had picked up a stone in his foot. Arod was a determined horse, though, and tried to keep up his pace. There was no use running him to further injury, and Legolas spoke again, in his elvish voice, “It’s alright, Arod. Let them catch us up. I’ll just have to deal with them.” He looked back and could see the remaining men closing the distance. Arod continued to run as best he could, still favoring his injured foot, but slowing.

Legolas prepared his bow, nocked an arrow, rose in his stir ups, turned and fired. Another man down, tangled in the straps of his saddle and dangling from his horse, limp as a dead fish.

“Six to go,” Legolas said to himself, and he aimed again. The next few shots missed their intended targets. Arod was not running as well as before, and his movements made it difficult to aim straight. The next arrow seemed to hit someone in the upper arm, but the man merely pulled it free, and continued the pursuit. More loosed arrows and more missed shots. He was running out of ammunition, and the guards were catching him. Legolas made the decision to let them do just that. Better to fight them now with his knives and save his last few arrows. Just as he made his decision, there was a stinging sensation along the outside of his thigh. An arrow had narrowly missed him, slicing through his skin. His pants were cut and blood formed along the ragged edges. He turned to see one of the men raise his bow, determined not to miss his next shot. Legolas grabbed one more arrow, and with lightning speed fired before the armed guard could shoot, knocking the man from his horse. That made five now, better odds.

There was one man who seemed to be the leader of the guards, dressed all in black … nothing resembling Rohan. These were Grima’s men though, and they dressed as they liked. Legolas could see the man’s long black curly hair flowing as he raced towards him. All of these guards looked similar with black hair and beards. The elf wondered how Grima managed to lure these foreign men to do his bidding. He was sure they were Dunlendings educated by Grima and possibly Saruman, to blend in with the Rohirrim, maybe pose as refugees from the Fold.

The leader called to his left and then to his right. Two men fell out of formation and broke from the remaining guards. Legolas kept his eye on them, turning frequently in the saddle to see what they were doing. To his surprise, they flanked to the left and kept heading westward. Why, Legolas wondered to himself. They had been running for some distance, and he hadn’t paid much attention to which direction he had been going. Then he realized that, during the pursuit, they distracted him and forced him to take a more northerly path than he wanted. Of course, they knew he was heading towards the Gap of Rohan, and they purposefully chased him off course. The two men who broke away were traveling in that direction. They would get there before he could, and alert any more spies of Grima’s. There was no way he could get to Théodred without first encountering the Dunlendings first. It was at this point that Legolas realized they never meant to capture him and bring him back to Rohan. Their instructions were to kill, insuring that Legolas would not get to Théodred or Eomer and tell them about the things he had seen. Well then, where would he go? He was too far north to turn and head for Aldburg, and the Fords would be teaming with Saruman’s men, including orcs, no doubt. He would have to take his chances and fight off the three men following him. 

The remaining riders discarded their bows and drew their swords. Legolas fastened his bow to its place on the saddle and pulled both of his long knives from their sheath that hung next to his quiver. A sword would have been better. His knives, though very deadly, did not have the reach of a sword, and he wasn’t too inclined to getting close enough to one of the guards in order to use his weapons. If anything, he could deflect their attacks. He would just have to make the best with what he had to fight with.

The first guard moved alongside Legolas, and brought his horse close. He struck out with his sword. Legolas evaded the man’s swing with one of his knives, and metal scraped metal. He felt like his movements were unnaturally slow because of his injuries, but he fought with everything he had, and blocked every move. He finally saw his chance to strike, and as the man lifted his sword, Legolas slashed at his leg. The guard yelled out in agony, but his sword continued on its downward path and sliced along Legolas’ arm. The cut felt deep, but the elf ignored it as best as he could and struck again, this time thrusting his knife into the man’s side. The guard slumped forwards and grabbed onto his horses mane, which made the horse veer away from Arod. 

The leader called to the second man, who moved up and took the place of the injured guard. His eyes trained on Legolas and he smiled wickedly, with yellow teeth set in an evil sneer. Legolas’ left arm was weakened because of the cut, but it wasn’t useless. Still, he could feel his chest wounds opening, scabs tearing once more. He regretted not using the last of his arrows, but was in no position to retrieve his bow now. Again, the second guard laughed and struck out, narrowly missing Legolas’ neck. Arod, thank Béma, had flanked to the right, and the man’s sword caught one of the saddlebags. This gave Legolas an idea, and he glanced down to the saddle straps of the second guard’s horse, and then back to the man. Both horses and riders moved towards each other once more. Legolas waited until the man was within range, and had his sword positioned to strike. The elf sat up straight, making sure that he seemed a suitable target. The guard swung at Legolas’ neck for a second time, but the elf ducked and leaned partly out of his saddle. Very quickly and with precision, he reached out with his long knife and sliced through the strap. He looked up to see the shock on the second guards face as he started to slip, saddle and all, from the horses back. He hit the ground quite hard, rolling as dirt and rocks sprayed up around him. Then he came to a stop and did not move.

Legolas laughed, pleased with his method of ridding himself of another one of Grima’s men, but took a little too long with his victory. He hadn’t seen the leader fall back and reemerge on the other side, but he knew something was not right when he heard the thunder of hooves to his right. He spun around just in time to find the remaining man leaping from his horse and launching himself at his person. Legolas tried to bring his long knives around in time to stick the last guard through the chest, but was too late. Strong muscular arms latched on to Legolas, pinning his arms to his sides. He felt himself slipping from Arod’s back, and tried desperately to grab the horn of the saddle or his horse’s mane, anything that would keep him from falling. It was no use, and both man and elf fell. With only one option left, Legolas let go and stopped struggling, which insured that the man, who was clamped on tight, fell first.

It might as well have been a fall from a cliff, Legolas noted, as they seemed to fall forever in slow motion. They both hit the ground violently, Legolas using the guard as a buffer against the sudden impact with the hard ground. Then he was free from his captor, and rolling in the dry dirt. He did his best to remember his arms and legs, and tucked himself into a ball, though he still felt he was flailing about. When he finally came to a stop, he laying on his stomach, and could feel all of the new scrapes and bruises that added to his previous wounds. He didn’t move right away, afraid that he might not be able to move at all. But when he heard a moan, he forced his arms to move and raised himself up to look. The last man was struggling to his feet, though he was stumbling and fell twice before he could stand. Legolas took a quick look around, scanning the scene. Arod was some distance away, but he had stopped running. The other horse hadn’t stopped and was running on without his rider. There was nothing around, as they were still out on the wide open plains. Nothing but dry dirt and the occasional outcrop of rocks surrounded them. His knives were lost somewhere, and he hoped the same could be said for the man’s sword.

Legolas looked at him again. He was on his feet now, limping badly, but making his way towards Legolas. The elf willed his body to get up from the ground. Everything throbbed, from his head to his feet, with old and new wounds, bruises, bumps and a possible sprain to is left ankle. But he stood and anchored himself, watching to see what his enemy had in mind to do. Even badly beaten as he was, Legolas was still a force to reckon with. He was an elf after all, and could find strength to draw on that which he did not know existed.

The man stopped and straightened his back, looked Legolas directly in his eyes and smiled, “You die now, Elf,” he said with a heavy accent. Dunlending to be sure, Legolas noted.

“If I die, it will not be by your hands,” Legolas answered with a sinister tone, “Nor by the hands of your master.”

The guard laughed, which turned into a flinch of pain, “Maybe not, but there are more on their way, and for sure they will see you dead.”

Legolas recollected the two men who stopped their pursuit and headed towards the Gap of Rohan. If this was true, there wouldn’t be much time for the elf to make an escape and put distance between him and the next wave of enemies.

Something caught his eye to the right of him, a flash in the sun … one of his knives. It was too far to retrieve. Then he heard the cry of a horse … Arod. Legolas gave a short sharp whistle and smiled arrogantly to the man, “At least I still have a horse.”

The man reached into his black boot, and pulled out a small dagger, returning a smile, “And at least I still have a weapon. You’ll be dead before your mangy horse can get close enough.”

Legolas kept his gaze on the man, but could still see beyond him. Arod was running in their direction, coming to the aid of his rider. The elf cocked his head to the side and stared at the tall man dressed in black, “I still have a weapon too.”

The Dunlending looked in the direction of Legolas’ long knife shimmering in the light of the sun. Then he looked at Legolas’ ankle, which he seemed to be favoring, “You’ll never make it that far before I cut your throat.”

“Oh no, not that weapon,” Legolas replied.

The man looked at the elf, confused by his meaning, “What—”

Before he could finish, Legolas shouted, “Arod, Sí!” Now!

The man turned in time to see the great grey horse towering above him, and rearing up on its hind legs. The guard cried out with alarm and raised his hands, as if to ward off his equestrian attacker. Arod’s front hooves were thrusting out at the man, who fell to the ground. The horse stomped on his victim, cracking ribs and fracturing other bones.

“Enough!” Legolas yelled, and Arod stopped his attack, though he was still quite agitated, whinnying and thrashing his head about.

The man was curled up on his side, moaning and cowering. Legolas walked up to him, and stood there a moment, watching him, “Tell Grima he has not seen the last of me. I will return to Rohan and see him cast from Edoras for committing treason.”

Legolas left the man lying on the ground and went to Arod. After checking the horse’s feet, and indeed finding a stone wedged uncomfortably into one of his hooves, Legolas was ready to set off again. He usually would have leapt onto his horse with hardly any effort, but his body was beaten and bruised. Instead, he carefully climbed into the saddle, and with a light whickering from Arod, they started out, stopping to retrieve his belongings that had been scattered from the fight. Legolas found both of his long knives, and the contents from the spilled saddlebag, which was mostly his food supply. With everything gathered and put away, he paused and looked towards the west. Legolas knew he could not go to Théodred now. Scouts had been sent in that direction. Grima’s men would be looking for him, and he could not fight them off alone. What he needed most now, was some descent rest and time to heal. He knew he had a reasonable head start, but still, there was no time to linger. He urged Arod into a gallop, and rode northward without any idea of where he was going.

* * *

It was late when Legolas came across what he thought was an outcrop of rocks covered in dry grass. It turned out to be an ancient cottage with a thatched roof, long since abandoned by its previous owners. This seemed as good a place as any for him to rest, and he carefully dismounted. Arod, too, seemed exhausted having traveled all day at a steady speed, especially after their altercation that morning. Legolas led his horse around to the back of the small stone building, and discovered that the house was actually built part way into an outcrop. It was a clever design, to be sure, and looked like part of the scenery. No one would know of its existence until they came upon it. There was a door, or an entranceway that used to hold a door, and nothing else. The building looked sturdily built with stones of different shapes and sizes that all fit together like a completed puzzle. The roof, in which Legolas thought was thatched, was actually the top of the rocky outcrop, and the grass covering it was brown, gone dormant for the winter months.

Legolas slipped inside, ducking so as not to hit his head. There was plenty of space inside and he straightened and looked around. It was just one room, no dividing walls, and empty … spacious, but barren. In the back corner, Legolas saw what looked to be a ladder running up the wall to a small hole in the roof. At a closer examination, he could see rusty brackets that would have held a wooden panel of some kind. Perhaps there was a crawl space above the house, or just another way to exit the cottage. It would seem understandable that there would be another way out, in case the main entrance was blocked. That was good to know, he thought to himself. Although Legolas had traveled quite far, he was still wary of those that might be searching for him.

He sighed deeply, spread out his bed roll and collapsed upon it, only to feel the shock of something hard pushing into his thigh. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the jar of healing cream that Eowyn had given him. How could that have been just this morning? Now, the sun had set and night crept in.

“It seems like a hundred years ago,” he said aloud, as he opened the jar and sniffed. He could pick out a few of the herbs used to make the salve, and it wasn’t an unpleasant scent. Legolas carefully set the jar to the side and searched through his bag, finding a piece of flint. Of course, Eowyn would have thought of everything to make his journey as easy as possible. So far it had not been, but at least now, he had a slight reprieve … long enough to nurse his wounds and let Arod rest.

Legolas gathered enough material to make a small fire in the cottage’s hearth. He knew it was dangerous, for the smoke would be scene billowing from the chimney, but he needed to see in order to treat and bandage his injuries. He unbuttoned his shirt and discarded it, tossing it in a heap on the floor. It was ripped, torn and bloodied. He wouldn’t need it anymore, since he had a fresh change of clothes in his bag. The cream instantly cooled his hurts and eased the pain. The slashes on his chest from Grima’s whip, were blackened with scabs that had dried, reopened and bled, and then dried up again. Where there weren’t welts or cut marks, the skin was purple with bruises from the fall off his horse. The cut on his thigh from the passing arrow was only a scratch, but the slash on his arm from the guardsman’s sword was a bit deeper than he thought. He spread an extra layer of salve on it before fixing it with a cloth bandage, and tying the loose ends into a knot.

Once he was all fixed up, Legolas discarded the rest of his clothes, and put on his elvish attire that Eowyn packed. At first, he took comfort in the mere feeling of clean material against his battered body, but looking at the pile of Rohirric clothes gave him a pang in his heart. There was nothing of him now that spoke of Rohan. As he shed the remnants of the uniform, he felt he was shedding himself from another identity.

“I never really was one of them,” he admitted aloud, “Perhaps Lúta was right when she said I didn’t belong with them.” But he had been one of them, one of the strong and proud Rohirrim, fighting for a young country, for its people, and for those loyal to its King. And he was not through with that part of his life, not yet. Théoden must be freed. Grima must be dealt with … by his own hands if at all possible. Théodred and Eomer must be warned. There was still much to be done.

“Just an hour or two,” he whispered as he lay down on his makeshift bed, “and then I’ll ride out and—” But he did not finish his sentence as he fell quite exhaustedly into elvish sleep.


	25. The Entwood

Legolas awoke with a start. Arod was irritably snorting and neighing softly with caution. The elf had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but he knew it was much longer than he intended. Someone was approaching the ancient cottage. He got up from his bed, though his body was reluctant. Everything was sore, but at least the wounds did not burn or itch any longer. The healing cream seemed to be doing its job, and a sound healing sleep helped too, but at what cost.

Legolas went to the doorway and looked out. He could see nothing, but he sensed movement in the distance. He closed his eyes and listened … horses approached, two perhaps from the sound of it.

“Not Eomer,” he said, thinking that his friend might luckily be patrolling the area. If it were Eomer and his men, there would be more than just two horses. No, it seemed Grima’s men had finally caught up to him.

“Damnit,” he cursed in elvish, knowing he’d spent too much time here. He should have been gone hours ago, but he’d fallen into a deeper sleep than he had expected.

He quickly gathered what few belongings he had, and gave a quick glance at the pile of discarded uniform, “I’m no longer a soldier of the Mark,” he said disappointedly.

For years, he’d worn the heavy chainmail and leather armor, the metal helm and thick breeches. Now, he looked down at his state of attire—his elvish clothes— lightweight yet durable boots, a soft white undershirt, and a moss green tunic with matching leggings. At the very last, he decided to keep his cloak, created by the older Rohirric women. It was made of heavy brown wool with a metal clasp to attach it at the throat, good for protection against cold or rain, as well as camouflage when an enemy came too close. Besides, he wasn’t ready to shed Rohan from his heart, and the cloak reminded him of the warmth and safety of his adoptive home.

Legolas left the cottage, tied his bag to Arod’s saddle, and leapt onto his horse. He still had a bit of the cover of darkness to help hide his escape, but the sky was beginning to lighten to the east. Soon there’d be enough light for the men to see him. He knew they would check the old house, and find his tattered clothes, the hearth still warm from last night’s fire. They’d probably track him. There was nowhere to hide now … or was there?

With the rising of the sun, Legolas could just make out in the distance, a line of trees belonging to a great forest. How far had he come yesterday? Further than he thought, and if his calculations were correct, that tree line was the edge of Fangorn Forest. Legolas smiled to himself, and smacked his forehead for not thinking of it sooner.

Fangorn Forest, called The Entwood by the Rohirrim, was just the place he needed right now. Men of the Mark, as well as Dunlendings, orcs, and most other races, would not step foot into the dark wood, for fear of the great beings that patrolled there.

“I have always longed to see the ancient forest,” he said, patting Arod on his neck. The horse seemed to protest with a snort of reluctance, and Legolas laughed, “Don’t worry. I would not take you anywhere that I myself did not think safe.” His elvish voice and soothing rhythmic words always calmed his beast, but this time Arod did not take easily to the idea. Animals had a sense for danger, but Legolas knew Fangorn Forest would bring them no harm. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he’d felt something once. As an elfling, traveling with the Woodsmen, they had passed within sight of the great forest. The men were wary, even at a distance, but Legolas felt a welcoming sensation emanate from the far off trees. Had he been alone at the time, he would have answered the call. Now he would finally get to satisfy the bit of curiosity that never quite left him.

* * *

Legolas rode across the open plain, the edge of the forest coming quickly into view, as Arod kept a steady pace. They had traveled without incident, leaving any trackers far enough behind. When he had awakened in the predawn hours, there had been a light frost on the ground and the dry grass. They had left a very noticeable trail marking their direction. Now, the sun was high enough that any trace of moisture had dissipated. The air was cold and dry, but luckily there was no wind. It was a typically crisp day for late January. Legolas inhaled deeply, and realized how long it had been since he was out in the open fields of the Riddermark. He felt most of his strength return, glad to be away from the dark confining cells beneath Edoras. His chest tightened as he thought of the mess that led up to that horror, but he pushed his anger aside. Nothing would interfere with his feeling of freedom and sense of rebirth. Dressed in his elvish attire, out in the open, alone and on his own, he felt at peace even with the threat of pursuit. He started to relax a bit, shedding the layers he had developed in order to live amongst humans. It was something he hadn’t known he had done until now.

The edge of the dark wood was close. Legolas could sense an ominous presence, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He hadn’t expected this, but then he could not expect a welcome party either. As curious as he had been, Fangorn was still a dangerous place, and he started to question his desire to come. It was too late to change his mind now, and it might be more perilous to remain on the plains with scouts out looking for him. Best to take his chances with the tree herders, he thought.

Arod was reluctant to get too close, so Legolas led him along the length of the forest, slowly trotting along as he tried to see past the dark spaces between the trees. This was a very strange place, he observed. He was used to the small forest that stood just outside of Edoras’ walls, where the terrain gradually changed from grass plains to bushes, and then to smaller trees that grew at the outer edge of the tall, more mature ones. Here, at the edge of a flat grassy plain, stood an abrupt wall of thick growing trees, taller than those near Rohan, looming high above. They almost seemed to be watching him, if that were possible, even leaning towards him as he moved along their outer edge. He could hear wood creaking, like that of old men moaning from aching joints. He might not have found that so odd, but for the fact that no wind made the trees move and bend. No, the trees were moving on their own somewhere beyond the edge of the forest. They knew he was there; he sensed their wariness. 

Arod was getting agitated once again, but this time not from the forest. Riders were approaching. Legolas could hear the thundering of hooves in the distance. Once more, he hoped it was Eomer and his men, but Arod’s nervous whickering made him doubtful. Still, he waited, keeping his horse calm. He would know as soon as he saw the first rider.

They poured out from around an outcrop of stone and rock, not Eomer’s men, but Southrons. “What are men of Harad doing here?” Legolas wondered aloud. There was no mistaking them. Their dress alone spoke of their heritage. They wore robes of vibrant red, trimmed with a gilded collar, and garish armor overlapping in spikes. Black turbans covered their heads and face so all that could be seen were their eyes peering out from darkened skin.

Legolas had waited a moment too long, and the man riding out in front of the group saw him, “There’s another one,” the dark man shouted, “Don’t let this one get away.”

“Another one?” Legolas wondered briefly. What did he mean by that? He didn’t have time to think about it as a large army of Southrons charged towards him. There must have been a hundred men at least, and all of them running towards him. The only place to go was into Fangorn. Legolas turned Arod towards the forest and commanded him to go. There was only a short distance left before they were at the foot of the forest. The problem was that the trees grew too close together, and Legolas could not find a place where Arod could pass inside. They rode left and then right, a stray branch whipping the elf across his cheek from time to time. The Haradrim were closing in on them.

Legolas remembered the sound of moving trees, and now recognized that they had been closing off any entrance into the woods. He himself might be able to squeeze in somewhere, but he would not leave Arod alone to be captured by the Southrons. With the approaching men, the trees became tense with anger. They trusted no one to ride into their home, and protected themselves by interweaving branches and vines, anything to make a barrier.

With only moments to spare before the Southrons were upon him, Legolas jumped down from his horse and stood facing the great trees. He spread his arms out and tilted his head back, showing his subservience to the enchanted forest. With a thick elvish accent, he called to them, “I come to you peacefully, and ask for harborage from these wicked men. They are my enemy, as well as yours, but I cannot fight them alone. Please, let my horse and I pass.”

The trees creaked and moaned in such a low voice that Legolas felt the ground vibrate beneath his feet. Some of the smaller trees looked as if they were bending to allow him passage, but the larger trees between stood firm and unmoving. Then there was a booming voice from inside the tightly woven trees, and Legolas was amazed to find that he understood the language as though he had spoken it his whole life.

“Oak and Beech, move aside and let the elf enter. He is a friend, one of the First Born, don’t you know?”

Legolas observed the trees untangle their limbs, roots burrowing back into the earth, and vines recoiling into the canopy. An area of the tree line gave way with enough room for him and Arod to enter.

The grey horse protested with another snort through his nose as he stared at the forest. He was checking for danger for himself as well as for his rider. “You cannot stay out here alone,” Legolas said, understanding Arod’s gestures and quiet nickering. “Forward!” he commanded, but Arod refused to take a step closer. The trees were still angry, and the approaching Southrons were the cause of their mood.

Legolas, however, rested his head against his horse’s cheek, and ran a gentle hand along the muscled neck, “Do not trouble, Arod. I may lead you many places, but never somewhere that I fear we may not return.”

Arod snorted loudly, making Legolas’ hair fly up. The grey horse stomped a single foot, a signal to his master that he would go, though reluctantly. Legolas leapt upon the horse’s back and they stepped into the forest before the Southrons got too close. Behind them, the trees closed off the entrance and the light dimed a bit, but it was not dark. It was still illuminated at the inner edge of the woods. The canopy was not yet so full that it blocked out the sun. Rays of light shone down to the forest floor like slanted columns, illuminating small bits of dust and insects as they traveled in and out of the silver beams. The ground was thick with leaves from seasons past. The air smelled damp and musty, of rotted matter and wet dirt.

Legolas looked around, but there was no sign of the speaking tree, “Hello,” he called, and there was no answer. He felt rather unnerved by the abandonment, but perhaps the trees did not trust him just yet. They were waiting and watching.

He caught the sound of shouts outside of the trees. The Southrons had finally caught up. They had seen him go into the forest and were looking for a way in.

“He can’t have gone far,” one man called out.

“Probably dead by now, if he went in there,” said another.

“We could send out a few scouts to look for him,” suggested someone.

“It’s not worth losing any of my men over,” said their captain, “Move on then.”

Legolas waited, holding his breath as the men went on their way. When he was sure they were gone, he nudged Arod in his sides, and they continued further into Fangorn Forest, looking for the Ent who helped them. One of the Southrons mentioned another getting away, and Legolas wanted to know who this person was.

As they went deeper into the woods, the scenery changed drastically. The trees were massive, their roots snaking along the surface of the forest floor. The lower branches were gnarled and bare of leaves, looking more like arms and fingers rather than boughs. There were no sounds of birds, squirrels or other creatures, yet the forest was not quiet. The low humming noise grew louder and seemed to pass from tree to tree. Wood cracked and groaned all around him, but if he listened, he could hear their language. Legolas was amazed at how easy it was to decipher their words, long and slow to pronounce.

“They are discussing whether we are friend or foe,” Legolas said to Arod, “Some know I mean no harm, and they are anxious to speak to me, but they have forgotten how to communicate with anyone but themselves. Those are not the ones that I am worried about. There are trees here that are dangerous. Their thoughts are savage.”

Arod snorted and thrust his head up and down, sensing the danger that Legolas spoke of. The horse’s muscles were very tense, and the elf decided to take a moment to calm his loyal beast. “It’s alright, Arod. They have no fear of the creatures that walk on four legs, only those who walk on two. They do not mind having you here.”

Deeper into the forest, they walked. The air grew thick and the light diminished, giving the place an eerie vibe. Legolas felt many sets of eyes upon him, watching his every move. He suddenly heard the creaking of wood behind him and turned quickly. Nothing moved. The forest was still, though some of the low branches seemed to be pointing in a different direction than they were before. He faced forward and nudged Arod to continue. A little further, the trees seemed to have drawn in, closing around the only path suitable for Arod to walk. Legolas could see that the ground was becoming rather dangerous for his horse’s step. He worried that Arod might trip and hurt a leg, and decided to get down and lead his equestrian friend. Just as he was about to dismount, there was a swooshing of air and he caught a glimpse of a rather large branch swiping past his head. Legolas ducked in time, and the branch missed him, but it was close enough to disturb his hair. He looked in the direction of the tree that tried to knock him off Arod and began calling out in Sindarin, “I mean you no harm. I come to you as a friend.” As he finished speaking, he dismounted and stepped away from Arod, “Please, if you will just tell me where to find the Ent that helped me earlier, I will—”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence before a large vine curled around his ankle and up his leg. It pulled him to the ground and started dragging him. His head hit a rather large root. That would hurt later, he thought. As he passed another root, he grabbed it with both hands, and stopped himself from being lured away by the feral trees, but the clinging vine kept pulling. Legolas made an anguished face as he desperately clung onto the root, “Let me go! Please!” he yelled.

Arod was there instantly, rearing up on his hindquarters, and stomping on the vine that held his master. He screamed in a loud roar of rage, eyes wide with panic, and desperately tried to help Legolas escape. Legolas yelled at him, demanding that he stay away, but Arod would not listen. He was a horse of Rohan, trained to stay at his master’s side no matter how dangerous. Loyal to the end, Legolas remembered Théodred telling him once, and now he was seeing just how true that was.

His hands were slipping. He was losing his grasp on the root. Once he let go, there was no telling what the trees would do to him. They felt threatened by his presence. Nothing he could say would change their frenzied minds. He might possibly be thrashed to death, and Arod might be sacrificed as well.

From deep in the forest, came a loud bellowing call, and the trees began to calm, though they did not release their grip on Legolas’ leg. The ground beneath him shook as something large approached. There came another long deep roar, echoing through the dark woods, and when it stopped, everything was deathly quiet.

“I demand you release him,” called the booming voice, “Did I not tell you earlier? He is a Child of Ilúvatar, and from what I can gather by his language, he is akin to those who taught us to speak. We owe him our service, not our wrath.”

Instantly, the vine uncurled from Legolas’ leg, and slithered back into the tree from whence it came. The elf sat up, slowly stood, and brushed the dirt and leaves from his clothes. Arod, was still agitated, his head bobbing up and down, and his lips curling back to show his biting teeth. Legolas brushed his hand along the massive neck, and purred in elvish. Arod calmed immediately. All of this the elf did before he brought his attention to his rescuer. 

The tree herder was extremely tall—maybe 25 feet—with a wide spreading crown of branches and dark green, elongated leaves. Amazingly, his bark was smooth and silvery grey, almost like human skin. He had two legs with multiple roots that acted as his feet and toes, two long branch-like arms with five knobbed fingers on each, and a surprisingly handsome face—for a tree, Legolas added as an afterthought. His eyes were silver, matching his skin, and he smiled with lips make of loose papery bark.

Legolas laid his hand over his heart and bowed. The tree herder bent his head in response, the leaves of his crown rustling as he moved. Legolas stood straight again, and gazed up in disbelief at the giant, “You are one of the Onodrim … an Ent?” he asked enthusiastically.

“I am indeed. My Ent name would take much too long to say, but you may call me Beechbone.” As he finished speaking, one of the rooted trees creaked, and Beechbone turned his attention to it.

“Yes,” he said in answer, “and if the others were here I might give my proper name, but since they aren’t I shan’t.” Beechbone turned his eyes back to Legolas and gave a youthful smile, “He says I am much too hasty, and that I must speak properly.” The giant tree paused and sighed, “Ah, they say it is my youth.”

“You do look young for an Ent,” Legolas complimented.

“For an Ent, yes, and I must agree that I have not the patience of the older Onodrim.” He bent at the knees and narrowed his eyes as he peered down at Legolas, “And it’s a good thing I am quick too. Now, might I know your name, young master elf?”

“I am Legolas, elf of Mirkwood, adopted son of Rohan,” he said proudly.

Beechbone straightened and his eyes widened with surprise, “Mirkwood and Rohan? Now, that is something I have never heard before.”

Arod whinnied and stomped a foot, and Beechbone switched his attention to the horse, “That is a fine beast and most loyal.”

“Arod is a descendant of the Mearas, and my friend,” said Legolas, smiling.

Beechbone was about to continue the conversation, but he gasped and raised his knobby hands to his face, “Oh what am I thinking? Here I am making introductions, and I have forgotten about—” He stopped mid-sentence and started to walk away. Then he turned back to Legolas, “Uh, are you missing someone from your traveling party?”

“No,” said Legolas, shaking his head, “I travel alone. But the men … I heard them say something about pursuing another. Is there someone here?”

“I thought you might have been traveling together, since you both entered the forest relatively close to the same time. She’s been injured, and I left her alone when I heard the ruckus going on here,” said Beechbone, turning back to his course and walking away.

“Wait!” Legolas called, “I’ll come with you.” He leapt onto Arod and they followed Beechbone at a careful pace. When they caught up to the Ent, Legolas questioned him, “You said ‘she’. Is it a woman?”

Beechbone took another long stride before answering, “Why no, she’s an elf … like yourself.”

Legolas’ mouth dropped, and he couldn’t think of what else to ask. An elf, but from where, and who, and why and—

“You said she’s an elf like me. Do you mean she is a Mirkwood elf?” He wasn’t sure why he was asking this. Of course she wasn’t from Mirkwood. None had survived besides him. But just the thought of merely seeing another elf was excitement enough. It had been years since he’d spoken to one of his own kind, not since his uncle … since Elhadron.

“Well now, that I would not know. She is an elf, and that is all I can say for sure. Tell me, young master Legolas, have you knowledge of your medicine?” Beechbone spoke without stopping between sentences, but his wording was rather slow and precise, and Legolas had to pay close attention.

“Medicine? Yes, I have some knowledge of it, but it is not extensive. What kind of injuries did she sustain?”

“Hmm, well, if she had termites or burrowing beetles I would know what was wrong, but I’m afraid I know nothing of flesh and bones.”

Legolas thought for a moment, “Is there any blood, you know, red seeping from the skin?”

“Oh yes, there is that for sure. Is that bad?” asked Beechbone, clueless.

“I’d say you better direct me to her so that I may get to her quickly. Your strides are great, Beechbone, but you still travel much too slow,” said Legolas with anxiety lacing his words, “Sometimes haste is needed, especially in a situation like this.”

“Oh, right then, here’s how you go,” said Beechbone, and he told Legolas where to go and what to look for in order to reach the wounded elleth. Legolas waited as patiently as he was able, and took off on Arod before the Ent could finish. The tree’s voice traveled though, and Legolas caught the end of his directions as he rode away.

* * *

Legolas followed the path as Beechbone directed, and came upon an unusual area of the forest, a place like an open glade. The sun shone down bright, and the dankness of the forest disappeared with a crisp January air. The smell of conifers awakened Legolas’ senses with refreshing surprise. The grass here was a muted green, dormant for the winter months. Arod took it upon himself to look for the more succulent pieces and grazed leisurely, no longer apprehensive about his surroundings. Legolas had dismounted upon entering the enchanted glade. As much as he wished to close his eyes and absorb the freshness of this place, he knew there was a more serious matter to attend to.

He searched the area with a sharp eye, looking for the injured elf, and finally found her beneath a very large beech growing on the opposite side. The roots at the foot of the tree spread out above the thick leafy ground, and she was nestled between a set of these moss-covered anchors. Legolas cautiously went to her, keeping back a ways before approaching. She lay on her back, stretched out in a long line with her hands folded upon her chest. Legolas had seen men positioned like this as they were placed into their death barrows. He felt a jolt of panic when he thought that maybe she too was dead, but the slow rise and fall of her chest eased his fears.

Legolas took another step and observed her closely. Her hair was deep brown, long, and with a slight waviness. It contoured her face and flowed along her shoulders. Long dark lashes fluttered ever so slightly. Was she deep in elvish dreams, he wondered. She looked so peaceful, he almost forgot she was injured, and started searching for signs of injury. Legolas couldn’t see with her body covered by her grey cloak, so his attention went to her face once again. She was very lovely, he noted, with smooth skin, lithe in form, very elegant looking in her slumber. He wanted to talk to her, to know of anything she could tell him. She was the first elf he’d seen in years, and the first elleth he could remember since the servants who watched him as an elfling. Her clothes were different from his, though very much elvish in style, but not wood elven. Of course not, he thought. Where had she come from … Rivendell … Lothlórien? And why was she alone?

“I see you found her,” said Beechbone, finally catching up to the elf, “How is she?”

“I haven’t examined her yet. I’ll have to remove the cloak to get a better look,” answered Legolas, “How was she when you found her? Was she unconscious like she is now?”

“Oh no, master elf, she was walking and speaking, though what she was saying I dare not repeat.” Beechbone made a tsk sound, “Such language I’ve not heard from an elf.”

Legolas looked at her again, and cocked his head, “She doesn’t look the type to speak with a foul tongue.” He crouched down, one knee on the ground, and bent over her, reaching out to touch a piece of her wavy hair. As soon as he disturbed the soft tendril, the elleth’s eyes flew open and she gasped. In an instant, she was sitting up, grasping Legolas’ arm and twisting it most uncomfortably. If she had looked peaceful a moment ago, she was anything but that now. Legolas tried to grab her arm to stop her from twisting his, but she latched on with her free hand, twisting both of his wrists so that he thought they would snap.

“It’s alright, my lady, I’m here to—” Legolas started to say, but she wrenched his wrists into an awkward and painful position.

“You’ll take your filthy hands off me!” she demanded, eyes flashing wildly around as she tried to comprehend where she was.

Legolas winced, but found his voice, “I believe I should be the one demanding release,” he said painfully.

“You’ll not take me, you sand-dwelling, black hearted, cock sucking bastard!” she shouted.

Legolas could see that she was not fully aware of what was going on, “She thinks I’m one of the Haradrim,” he called to Beechbone as he tried to wriggle from her grasp. She was very strong, he noted.

“I am not your enemy. I’m only trying to help you,” he pleaded. Then yelling to Beechbone, he said, “A little help, if you don’t mind.”

As Beechbone spoke to the elleth in his baritone voice, trying to reassure her that they were indeed helping her, she cried out in pain and released Legolas’ wrists, doubling over in pain. Her face screwed up and her body curled into a fetal position, “It burns in my veins, like fire spreading through me.”

Legolas rubbed his wrists, which were red from her grip, but dismissed it quickly and knelt next to her, “Where are you injured?” he asked, but she was moaning and could not speak.

Her body stretched out abnormally, and her hands grabbed the tree roots on either side of where she lay. Then she cried out as her back arched off the ground. Whatever was wrong, it was getting worse. Just as quickly as it came on, it stopped and the elleth went limp. Legolas feared he had just seen her die, but found it hard to believe after playing victim to her unusual strength a moment ago. Her eyes were closed and her full lips were parted. He watched for a moment, afraid to touch her again. He didn’t want to upset her, if she was still alive. Then she finally took a breath, and he released the one he had been holding.

“What is wrong with her?” asked Beechbone, hovering above and casting a shadow upon the elves.

“I think she’s been poisoned,” Legolas replied, and pulled the edge of her cloak away from her body. Finally, he could see where she was bleeding from her side. There was a small slice in her shirt, and blood had soaked through all around it. “And she’s been stabbed, I believe.”

He pulled the edge of her silver shirt up over her midriff and found a stab wound in her side. The skin was red and swollen around the entrance sight, and a bit of yellowish foam bubbled at one end of the cut mark. Legolas knew a thing or two about the different kinds of poison used. This had likely been intended to paralyze her until the Haradrim could restrain her. Without the proper herbs to reverse the immobilization of the poison, her body could start shutting down, and she could die.

Legolas looked up at Beechbone, whose ancient face was marked with concern, “I can help her, but I’m going to need some herbs, and I’m not sure they grow in these parts.”

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll know where to find them,” Beechbone said eagerly.

Legolas gave him the names of the plants that he was sure would reverse the effects, and Beechbone hurried off as quickly as an Ent could manage. Then he turned back to the injured elf, and looked at the wound again. Remembering the healing salve Eowyn had given him, he got to his feet and rushed to where Arod stood, quietly grazing on a last patch of tender grass. He retrieved the jar from his saddlebag and opened it. There wasn’t much left, but he had no use for it now. His own injuries were healing, and though the salve would insure no further complications, the elleth needed it much more than him. It wouldn’t help to reverse the poison, but at least it would cleanse the wound and prevent infection.

She was breathing slow and deep in a healing sleep, her body trying to protect itself from the poison. Legolas hoped she would not wake and attack him again as he applied the salve. He’d never known such strength from a woman before. She was an equal match to his own physicality, something that took him by surprise.

Legolas eased the shirt up, exposing the nasty stab wound. He couldn’t tell how deep it was, but it was a clean cut, and the bleeding had slowed considerably. He was far from being an educated healer, but he could keep such injuries from becoming worse with the plants and herbs he found growing in the wild. He’d done it numerous times during his days patrolling the borders with Eomer and Théodred. The salve that Eowyn had given him was her own special concoction, and very potent, as was evident from his own healing wounds. Now he applied the salve to the elleth’s cut mark, moving carefully and hoping not to hurt her. The healing cream gave the effect of an icy burn when first administered. He waited a moment to see how she would react. When she not so much as flinched, he continued spreading the cream around the lacerated skin, using up the remainder of the contents of the jar. Now he needed to seal it somehow, and he plucked one of the elongated leaves from the beech tree. Legolas pressed it to the wound and held it there a moment.

The elleth’s eyelids fluttered and she gave a moan. Legolas prepared to jump away from her if she woke up with violent intent like earlier, but her muscles weren’t tense as they had been before. She blinked a few times, her eyes trying to focus on the tree canopy above, and then they fell upon Legolas. Her mouth opened and her lids went wide as though she was seeing something unexpected. She mumbled, trying to form words. Funny, he thought, she’d had no trouble finding the crudest insults when she thought he was one of the Haradrim. She had also used Westron then. Now she was speaking Quenya, or trying to.

“Ai! Co— Condo … Condo, Ar— Aryon,” she sputtered incoherently. She repeated the words several times, as if desperate for him to understand.

Legolas understood the words, but not the reason for her to say them to him. She was under the influence of a strong mind altering poison, though. She must be hallucinating, thinking he was someone else. He drew his dark brows together and shook his head slowly back and forth, “You mistake me for another, my lady. I am no prince, nor am I an heir.”

She continued to call him these things, looking at him, but seeing through him, not completely in reality, and still hallucinating. Then her face contorted as the pain from the poison coursed through her body. After that, she became silent, closed her eyes, and drifted back into a deep sleep. Legolas took her cloak and covered her again, but as he did, he became aware of the familiarity of her clothes. He’d seen them before when he was an elfling traveling with the Woodsmen. As he passed Lothlórien, he had glimpsed the elven sentries keeping watch over their docks along the Anduin. They wore clothes of the same fashion, abundant cloaks over gray loose flowing tunics, which hung below the knee, a fitted long sleeve silver shirt and black leggings beneath the multi-layers of seemingly heavy gray material. 

“So, she is a Galadhrim, an inhabitant of Lothlórien,” Legolas said, reciting all of his information, “. . . presumably a member of their army. She speaks Quenya and curses in Westron, and she has mistaken me for an acquaintance of hers … and a prince no less.” As far as he knew, there were no princes in Lothlórien, but perhaps she was speaking of someone from her past. He would just have to wait until Beechbone came back with the herbs he needed to cure the poisoning, and then find out exactly who she was, and what she was doing here alone and so far from her home.


	26. Without Words

It had been four days since Legolas entered Fangorn forest, since he came upon the injured elleth. She had barely stirred these past few days, and he feared that the herbs were not working. Beechbone had found the herbs and plants that Legolas requested, but it took him most of a day to do it. By the time he was able to prepare them properly, the elleth had been paralyzed longer than she should have. He had given her the first dose, a bitter brown liquid, and within minutes, she became feverish. The poor elleth shook violently for the first few hours; sweat beading on her forehead, and her skin hot to the touch. After the initial shock of the herb fighting against the poison, her body began to adjust and the fever broke. It would return whenever the effects of the herb began to dissipate, and he would have to administer a fresh dose. By the next morning, the fever was gone completely, but she still had not awakened. Three days later and there was still no movement besides the rise and fall of her chest as she slowly breathed. Legolas continued to administer the medicine every few hours, by soaking a piece of cloth in the herbal broth and squeezing it into the corner of her mouth. Was he getting enough into her system? Was it strong enough? Only time would tell.

It turned out that the glade they were in, the place where Beechbone brought the elleth when he first encountered her, was his home. He allowed Legolas the use of it in any way he needed. Beechbone had gone off soon after delivering the herbs, called to a meeting by the other Ents. Legolas inquired about the meeting, but the tree herder did not know the reason.

In the meantime, Legolas took care of the unconscious elleth, made her medicine, hunted for his own meals, and made sure Arod was content.

Finally, on the fifth day, she began to stir, the first signs of movement in days. Legolas had just come back with a freshly caught rabbit, and she was moving her head from side to side. He dropped his bow and his catch, and immediately went to her, kneeling at her side. Her eyes fluttered and opened, focusing on Legolas. He stayed still and waited to see what state she was in. When she did not speak, Legolas started the conversation.

“How are you feeling, my lady?” he asked.

She struggled to sit up on her elbows and looked from side to side.

“You are in Fangorn Forest. I’ve been treating your wounds since Beechbone found you several days ago.”

At the mention of injury, the elleth touched her side and winced. She lifted her shirt and peeled back the leafy covering, looking appalled by the wound.

“It was much worse when I first found you,” Legolas continued, “Luckily I was in possession of a healing salve, which I needed for my own injuries. I used what I had left on the stab wound.”

She looked from her wound to Legolas, her eyes scanning his body for injury. She seemed concerned for him, but he smiled and assured her, “I did not need anymore, and you needed it worse.”

She closed her eyes a moment, trying to regain her memory. Legolas watched her closely, “What is your name?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out. She tried again and again, but not even a rasp emerged, and she started to panic, clutching at her throat.

“Your voice? Oh, your voice is gone. It’s probably from the effects of the poison. It was a paralyzing potion. I guess your vocal chords have not yet recovered.” At least he hoped so. It was possible that the damage was permanent, but he would not tell her that.

She coughed and tried to clear her throat, but nothing worked. She seemed frantic to speak, but Legolas did what he could to calm her, “It will be alright. Just give it some time. You have been asleep for five days. I’m sure it is just a matter of regaining your muscles.”

She suddenly seemed very adamant on standing up, and when she tried, her legs gave way and she fell back to her rooted bed. Legolas told her she shouldn’t try to move so soon, but she was desperate, her eyes wide and urgent.

Legolas lost the argument, and she was on her feet, using the tree as an anchor. The elleth swooned, lightheaded from lying down for so long. Legolas grabbed her arm, but she withdrew from him. She was determined to do this on her own.

“I’m only trying to help.” He looked around the forest and back to the elleth, “You have nothing to fear. We are under the protection of the trees. Those men are far from here by now. There have been no disturbances since.”

The elleth touched her hand to her side again. Obviously, the pain had not gone away even though the wound was on the mend. Legolas watched her and pointed to her side, “I see by your attire that you are from Lothlórien but what I don’t understand is why you are so far from your home. Why are you alone? How did you happen upon the Haradrim, and what did—”

The elleth smiled and reached out to lay her hand on his forearm to stop him. Then she touched her fingers to her lips. Legolas gave her a bashful smile, “I’m sorry. I know you can’t talk. It’s just … well, it’s been a very long time since I’ve talked to another elf, and here you can’t talk.”

She knitted her brows and tilted her head to the side in confusion. Her hand came up again, this time touching his ear as she tried to communicate.

Legolas understood, “Yes, I am an elf, but I grew up in Rohan after my home was destroyed. I haven’t seen another elf since I was very young.”

An odd look of shock and discovery crossed her countenance, and Legolas felt she sensed something, “What is it?”

She shook her head, but the expression did not leave her face. Then she gestured to her uniform and the pin she wore upon her cloak, a leaf of Lorien. The elleth touched the collar of his tunic in question.

“Oh, my clothes, I’m sure they are not recognizable. I was born in Mirkwood, before the burning. I am the last wood elf,” he said solemnly.

The elleth gasped and took a step back. Her reaction was nothing to ignore, and Legolas wondered why she reacted as she did. “Did you not know that someone survived the burning?” 

She shook her head from side to side, this time forcing herself to look away from him. Now it made sense, the reason for her bewilderment.

“I was hoping you had known of others who survived,” he said disappointedly.

The elleth seemed to force herself to look at him again, this time studying his features. She made a gesture with her hands, but he didn’t understand her. When she wasn’t getting through to him, she looked around her, until she found what she was looking for, a patch of dirt. She picked up a twig and started scribbling in the sand. Legolas watched her write a name.

“Calariel,” he read, “Is that your name?”

She nodded and Legolas smiled. Then she pointed to him, and he bowed slightly as he gave his name, “I am Legolas.”

Her eyes went wide, but she tried desperately not to seem surprised. Legolas wondered why. “Do you know my name?” he finally asked.

She hesitated before answering and shook her head, but would not meet his eyes. She was behaving rather peculiarly. Before he could inquire, she changed her behavior with a smile and softening eyes, and made a gesture as if to drink.

“Oh, you’re thirsty. Of course you are. I have some water in a basin over here. I’ll bring you some. Please, sit back down. You must be very weak.”

She did as he asked, and sat on one of the large roots that had been her bed for the past few days. Legolas walked over to a large bowl filled with fresh spring water, dipped a wooden cup, and withdrew a fair amount. As he turned to Calariel, he caught her staring at him again, but she looked away quickly. She acted as though she had seen him before, but that was impossible. Perhaps he only looked like someone she had once known. Now was not the time to pressure her. Legolas decided to wait until her voice returned, and then he would ask her more about it. What was important now was seeing that she recovered.

* * *

A few more days went by, and Legolas got to know a little more about Calariel. She was a sentry, a border guard for the Galadhrim. A group of orcs came close to Lothlórien’s boundary. The elleth and her partner followed the fleeing orcs. That was when they came upon the Haradrim men. Calariel sent her partner back to camp to inform the others of their discovery while she decided to follow the group of men, and see where they were heading. The Haradrim caught sight of her and captured her. She went along with them for a while, hoping to discover more of their plans, and hoping that her fellow Galadhrim would find her. When it seemed rescue was not an option, Calariel took matters into her own hands and tried to escape. That’s when she was injured and struck with the paralyzing poison. Luckily, she managed to make for Fangorn and safety within the forest. A couple of the men chased after her, but never made it past the wooded border. The trees took care of them.

Legolas hunted for their meals and prepared more of his herbed concoction for the treatment of her afflictions. Beechbone had not returned yet, and he did not know when he would. He started to wonder what he should do. He hadn’t meant to stay in the woods for so long. He still needed to find Eomer or go to the Fords of Isen and seek out Théodred, but coming across Calariel had changed his plans.

She had improved significantly, besides her voice not returning, and he began to wonder if it was permanent. Legolas worked with her every day, trying to get her to speak, just as he was trying to do now.

“Alright, try again, and this time make an effort,” he demanded.

Calariel silently cleared her throat and opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Legolas narrowed his eyes at her, “You are not even trying. You are not holding out on me are you?”

Calariel took offense to that, stomped her foot and turned from him. He reached out and touched her shoulder, “I’m sorry, but I can’t understand how everything has healed except for your voice. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t want to speak to me for some reason. That’s not it, is it?”

This time, Calariel regarded Legolas with the slits of her eyes, but Legolas saw a bit of something cross her face; guilt was it? Had she actually been pretending that she had no voice? And if so, why? He let the matter go when she walked away from him. Legolas decided not to pursue the matter, and instead, prepared the evening meal. They avoided each other, and later ate in companionable silence. When they were through, they stayed by the fire. Legolas was poking at the embers with a stick, trying to figure out what to do. A few times, when he looked up, he found Calariel watching him intently, averting her eyes as soon as he raised his head in her direction. He decided to ask her about something that happened when he first found her.

“It was a peculiar thing that we both came upon Fangorn when we did, don’t you think?” he asked, and she nodded as she cleaned the meat from one of the bones.

“I mean, Beechbone would not have known what to do for you. You might have suffered greatly and died.”

Calariel looked at him with sincerity, and placed her hand over her heart, bowing her head in a sign of respect, and in this case, gratitude.

Legolas smiled back and blushed a bit before he went on, “I don’t suppose you’d remember, but you said something to me that had me confused, and I was just wondering. You looked me straight in the eyes and in Quenya, referred to me as prince, and then you called me heir. Do you remember?”

Calariel sat unmoving, her breath stopping as she looked at Legolas. Then she slowly continued chewing and dropped her eyes to her lap, shaking her head. Legolas could see that she was hiding something from him, but he did not call her out on it. Instead, he laughed, “You also called me a sand-dwelling bastard in Westron.”

Calariel smiled, but still wouldn’t look at him directly. Instead, she rolled her eyes up, stuck out her tongue and grasped her throat with her hands.

“Yes, I know you were under the influence of the poison. I just wondered who you thought I was, for it is a fact that we have never met before, and I am rather sure that I am not an heir. My father was a guard to the King of Mirkwood, at least I think he was. I was very young when it happened, but I remember him fighting with sword in hand, trying to keep the orcs from entering the royal chamber. I expect the King would have gone by that time, but unfortunately he did not make it out alive.” Legolas stared into the fire, tossing his stick into the flames, “He was a great warrior, my father. Tharan was his name. Funny, but I didn’t know that until my uncle told me. He was always father to me. Like I said, I was very young.”

Calariel moved next to Legolas, and laid a hand on his arm. She looked as though she wished to comfort him, as if she needed to say something, but she could not. The moment passed, and she picked up a small twig and wrote in the ashes at the edge of the campfire, “Rohan.”

Legolas released the thoughts of his father and brought his attention back to her, “Yes, Rohan is my home now … or it was … well, I’m not sure anymore. I was forced into a bit of a situation, which is why I am here and not in Rohan. My brother’s will need me though. I’m not sure how much longer I can stay here in Fangorn.”

“Brothers?” Calariel scribbled in the ashes.

“Adoptive brothers I should say. I was brought to Rohan when I was an elfling, taken in by King Théoden and raised in his house under his command. His son, Théodred and his sister son, Eomer are like brothers to me, so much so that sometimes I forget. The King, though, Théoden is in trouble, and Théo, Eomer and I are the only ones who can help. Dark days have fallen upon Rohan.”

Calariel nodded in agreement. Dark days had fallen upon most of Middle-earth. “Where are your brothers?” she wrote.

“Eomer rides across the plains with his men, destroying any orcs who walk freely across the Riddermark. Théodred is with his men defending the Fords of Isen where the orcs originate from.”

“Isengard?” Calariel wrote in the earth. She looked very concerned by this information.

Legolas sighed, “I’m afraid Saruman fights for the side of evil now. He has been breeding an orc army and will attack Rohan, but I do not know when. This is why I cannot stay here much longer. Théo and Eomer will be wondering where I am. They need me to help them fight.”

Calariel was about to write something else, when there was a commotion across the glade, and the trees parted. To her astonishment, a very tall tree being entered the area and approached them.

“Legolas, you must come right away. There is something happening— Oh my,” Beechbone interrupted himself, “You are alive, I see. Very good. Very good.”

Legolas jumped up and addressed the Ent, “Calariel, this is Beechbone. You have him to thank. He found you upon entering the woods, and brought you to his home.”

Calariel was astonished, but stood and bowed to the tree herder. Legolas continued, “She has recovered from her wounds, but she has not regained her voice yet. I am sure it will return soon though.”

“Oh, what an awful thing to be without,” said Beechbone as he looked her over carefully, “I hadn’t noticed before, but I see you are one of Lothlórien’s elves. I have always wanted to visit the Golden Wood, but unfortunately I am bound by duty to remain here.”

“Beechbone,” Legolas interrupted, “You said you needed me to go with you?”

“Oh my, yes, I had almost forgotten why I came. Yes, yes … there is a disturbance near the edge of the forest. I would not bother you, but I believe I may have found the people you are looking for. Golden haired men on horseback with spears and swords … are those your people?”

“The Rohirrim, they are here?” Legolas asked anxiously, “Did they come looking for me?”

“I’m afraid I could not ask, since they were engaged in battle with a group of nasty orcs. Should I go back and—”

“No, I’ll go. You stay here with Calariel,” answered Legolas. He grabbed his bow, quiver and knives, and gave a loud whistle, Arod came quickly, but he was unsaddled. Legolas shook his head, “I haven’t the time. You’ll just have to carry me bareback,” he said to his horse. With the grace of the elves, he leapt onto Arod’s back, clutching a handful of gray mane for support. Arod seemed anxious to leave. He must have sensed the Rohirric horses close by. Legolas turned his steed and gazed down at Calariel, “I cannot say how long I will be gone, but you should not venture from Fangorn until I return. With your voice gone, you cannot call for help. I promise to come back, though. Beechbone will keep you company, and I will return as soon as I can.”

Calariel nodded and watched awestruck as Legolas charged off in the direction Beechbone had told him to go, weapons at the ready, gilded hair flowing out behind him, cloak whipping in the wind. She had her suspicions as to Legolas’ real identity, but she could not be sure. Seeing him now as he gallantly rode off to join his men, Calariel started to believe her assumptions were correct. “Not a prince … my arse. There’s one way to be sure,” she whispered.

Beechbone gasped, “Your voice, it has returned. Oh, and Legolas has just left. He would be delighted to know you can speak again.”

Calariel mocked surprise and cleared her throat, “Well, what do you know? I can speak. It must be all the excitement. It loosened the vocal cords.” She looked up into the face of the Ent, “So tell me, Beechbone, what is the quickest way back to Lothlórien?”

“Oh, I do not think that is such a good idea. Legolas seemed to think you should stay put until he returns.”

Calariel gave one of her most charming smiles, “Yes, but I too have people anxious to know where I am. I truly believe I am fine now, and there is no telling how long Legolas will be gone. I must get back to Lothlórien, and tell them what I have learned of Rohan and impending war. My people may be able to help in some way.”

“Well, if you are sure then . . .” Beechbone proceeded to tell Calariel how to navigate the forest and be on her way.

* * *

Legolas could hear them before he saw them. Swords clashing, men shouting, orcs crying out, he was sure it was Eomer this time. He burst through the edge of the tree line and entered the chaos of battle. The stench of orc blood mixed with the overpowering scent of fresh pinesap and smoke. Orcs were running from the men on horses, obviously surprised by the attack. One orc ran towards Legolas, heading for the trees. The elf released a long knife from its sheath and decapitated the escaping fiend.

Some of the orcs fought back, but they were outnumbered by the Rohirric troops. Legolas joined the scene, keeping an eye out for Eomer. He recognized the men as being those of his friend’s battalion. They were busy with battle and did not notice him as he moved along through the dark, slaying orcs. Then, Legolas heard a familiar horse cry and looked up to see Firefoot rearing on his hind legs, a huge Uruk Hai swinging his blade at the horse. Legolas fired double arrows at the creature, hitting his target in the head and neck. Firefoot came down on all four legs, and a stunned Eomer looked closely at the fletching of the arrows. He instantly began searching the area until he saw Legolas. The elf rode to his friend.

“Just like always, I’m saving your hairy arse again,” Legolas jostled.

Eomer’s mouth dropped in surprise, “As I live and breathe … Legolas, how did you come to be here?”

“It’s a long story.”

Eomer’s face switched from shock to concern, “And one I’m sure I will want to know, but first, let’s rid ourselves of this nuisance.”

Legolas and Eomer joined the other men and fought the orcs until none was left alive. Eomer gave orders to pile the dead and burn their bodies and any of their belongings. The sun was just beginning to rise by the time they were finished with their duties, and Legolas was finally able to speak with Eomer.

He told him about Gríma and the horse ring, about the sinister voice emanating from Théoden. Legolas then told him about the arrest warrants for Eomer and Théodred, but word had already reached Eomer, and he assumed Théo too. Then, Legolas told him about Róta and the terrible things that led up to his imprisonment as well as the accusations of rape. Eomer was impressed with Eowyn’s involvement in setting Legolas free, though he rather wished she hadn’t. Now he worried for her, especially since Legolas was gone, and there was no one to watch over her.

“Believe me, she can handle herself quite well,” said Legolas, trying to ease his friend’s mind.

“So what did you do? Where did you go after leaving Edoras?” Eomer asked.

“Well, I was chased by some of Gríma’s men, but I managed to escape. I was originally going to see Théo, but went farther than I’d meant to, and ended up close to Fangorn. That’s when I came upon a group of Haradrim, and they—”

“Harad, what are they doing in these parts?” Eomer interrupted.

“I do not know, but they were traveling towards Isengard. I think Saruman has recruited more than just orcs to complete his army.” Legolas stopped and turned towards the forest, “I will have to go back,” he said, “Eomer, I came upon another elf, a female from Lothlórien. She’d been captured by the Haradrim, but escaped just before I encountered them. She was injured, but I managed to help her recover. I told her I would be back for her.”

“Legolas, there is no time for that now. Word reached us of Théodred’s plea for more troops. I could not spare any of my men, but sent the messenger on to Edoras, and summoned Elfhelm and as many men as he could gather. We have been making our way to the Fords, but we’ve been tested time and time again as we’ve come upon smaller orc armies. I only pray that Elfhelm has made it by now, and that our actions have helped to clear a path for him. As soon as we’ve burned the bodies, and buried our dead, we are riding on to the River Isen … with or without you.”

Legolas looked back at the forest; the pull of the trees and the elleth were very strong. He promised he would return, but his duty lay with Rohan. Calariel was with Beechbone, though, and she was mending quickly except for her voice. She was a soldier, he knew, and could take care of herself, but he had promised. The decision weighed upon him, but in the end, he had to remain loyal to Rohan. With a heavy heart, Legolas turned back to Eomer, “To the Fords, then. Théodred calls for his men. Let’s finish here, and be on our way.”


	27. A Horn Shall Sound

The smell of orcs burning was something one only had to experience once, for the stench was like no other, and it was burned into memory. It left an oily aftertaste in the mouth, and made one’s throat constrict with every breath of its foulness. Legolas’ stomach clenched as he watched a growing pyre of flames in the distance, the thick, black smoke billowing into the sky.

He stood with Eomer next to another burial spot, this one a final resting place for the men and horses who did not survive the night’s battles. The mound was encircled with fifteen spears, the weapons of the fallen. The remaining riders sat upon horseback, surrounding the gravesite, each man in silent prayer. Legolas prayed in his own language along with the others. This was not the first time he had participated in such a ceremony, but it never got any easier to see a life extinguished. It was a solid reminder that even an immortal such as himself could die.

Legolas peered out from beneath the hood of his cloak, trying to find the missing faces amongst the company. He had known all of the men, some better than others, and some of those most familiar were not here now.

Eomer affixed his helm back on his head. The rest of him men did the same and awaited orders. “Prepare to ride, Eorlingas!” he commanded, and they readied themselves for the journey to Isen. Eomer glanced over his shoulder to the burning orcs, and spat. As he turned back around, he noticed Legolas did not ride with a saddle, and raised a curious brow, “Forget something?”

“There was no time, and besides, I think Arod is stealthier this way. You know, Eomer, the elves do not burden their mounts with all of this confining equipment,” Legolas informed.

“Yes, but you represent Rohan, and that is a Rohirric horse you ride. I suggest that you find another saddle and implement the proper gear, as soon as possible,” Eomer reprimanded, and then smiled, “Welcome back, soldier.”

Someone tossed the elf a silver helm, and Legolas pulled it down onto his head in response to Eomer’s remarks. He sometimes forgot that Eomer was a commander. Not only that, but a Marshal of the Mark.

The men had gathered around as Eomer explained the route they would take, and what to expect when they got there, when someone interrupted, saying that a rider approached. The men grasped their weapons in response. Legolas peered through the thick smoke as he tried to see who it was. All he could make out was the silhouette of a lone rider carrying a flag. “It’s a messenger,” he notified.

Eomer sat upon Firefoot next to Legolas, removed his helm once again, and looked out until the figure came closer, “A green flag … He’s from Théodred’s company.”

Legolas’ heart pounded. What information would he have for them? Perhaps the Fords of Isen were secured, and Eomer and his men were not needed.

Eomer’s messenger rode out to meet the other, flying the colors of the Third Marshal, a black flag with a white horse rearing on two legs, its mane flowing out behind it. The men stopped, their horses greeting each other, and exchanged words. Then they both turned and came to where Eomer awaited news.

Legolas watched the horses puff their white breath in the briskness of a still morning air, winded from the excursion of their run. He shivered suddenly; a bad omen, he thought, for elves did not feel the cold.

“He has a message for you, my lord,” said Eomer’s messenger, “from Elfhelm.”

Eomer dismounted and approached the young man. Legolas slid down from Arod and followed.

“Go on then,” instructed Eomer.

The youth, a boy no more than fourteen, wrung his hands together, unprepared to give such an important message, “My lord, I’m afraid the Fords of Isen have been taken. The Rohirrim no longer control the Gap of Rohan, and the Prince,” he paused and swallowed hard, “Théodred … he has … perished, my lord. I am sorry.”

Legolas’ heart froze at the words. Théodred … dead? This couldn’t be right. He looked at Eomer and found the same confusion upon his friend’s countenance.

“I want to know the whole story,” Eomer demanded. The boy handed him a folded but unsealed parchment. The paper was smudged with dirt and stains. Was it from sweat or tears, Legolas wondered?

“It’s from Elfhelm,” Eomer told Legolas, and he started to read the letter aloud.

Elfhelm received the summons that Eomer sent, and instantly gathered an army. He picked up men along the way as he rushed to Isen, and eventually rallied four companies to answer the call. He had planned to stay the night at Helm’s Deep, knowing his men would need to be refreshed for whatever they came upon at the Fords, but scouts reported seeing Wolfriders on the plains. Elfhelm sensed something was amiss, and pushed his companies on without stopping. When they reached Isen, he ordered the troops to split up in different directions, pursuing the fleeing orcs. Elfhelm took his own company to the eyot where Théodred fought. There he found Grimbold fighting against two great enemies, and the lifeless body of the Prince lying on the ground. Seeing that Grimbold was almost overtaken, Elfhelm rushed to him and slew one of the fiends, while Grimbold neutralized the other. Once they caught their breath, they went to retrieve Théodred’s body, and found that he still lived, but barely. He spoke only briefly before he passed away.

“. . . his last words were to Eomer. ‘Take my place, Cousin, and save the King,’” Eomer read. He let the letter slip from his fingers as he finished.

Théodred’s messenger took a step forward and bowed his head, “I heard the horn sound, my lord, and knew the Prince had fallen. All was silent after that. The remaining orcs had slipped away, and the battle had ceased. Elfhelm and Grimbold are on their way back to Edoras with the Prince’s body. I rode ahead, hoping to find you. There is still time, my lord, before the funeral. I know you will want to be there.” The boy waited for instructions, but when none came he asked, “Shall I ride on to Edoras, and let them know you are coming?”

Eomer, in shock, could not think straight enough to answer him. Someone told the boy to give him a moment while the news sunk in. Legolas was quite in shock himself, but the thought of going to Edoras announced seemed like a bad idea. Grima would be expecting this, and there was still the matter of the warrant. Taking over briefly for his friend, Legolas addressed the boy, “I think you should travel with us. They will not lay Théodred to rest without Eomer being there, and we will arrive soon enough.”

Eomer seemed to surface from his daze, and searched Legolas’ face for a reason. Legolas laid his hand firmly on Eomer’s shoulder, “Grima will be expecting you as it is. Let’s not give him an appointment.”

“We shall ride in hard through the gates, and not stop until we reach the steps of Meduseld. I want answers for this insolence. Grima … Saruman … they will pay dearly for this tragedy.” Eomer turned to his company, standing tall with his spear gripped firmly in his hand. He replaced his helm, mounted Firefoot and called to his men. “Riders of the Mark, let us return to our Prince. To Edoras with all haste!” 

* * *

Legolas had time to think along the way. This was all part of Grima and Saruman’s plan. Grima kept the king in a suspended state while Saruman deployed his orcs and Uruks. The letter stating that Théodred remain at the Fords while Eomer stayed at Aldburg was all a ploy to keep them separated. The orders not to attack the orcs unless provoked allowed the enemy passage deep into the Riddermark. And the warrant against Eomer guaranteed his arrest if he came back to Edoras, thus keeping both Théodred and Eomer out of the way. Saruman had wanted them dead, and he succeeded with Théodred. Now Legolas feared for Eomer’s safety. He had been accused of treason, punishable by death, should the King order it, and Grima was controlling Théoden’s mind. Death could very easily be the outcome for his adopted brother.

Legolas, too, had been set up to ensure his own death. Grima knew this was the only way to get rid of the elf, for he would come back … and Grima was right about that. Legolas was going with Eomer, back to the city. Let Eomer deal with the spies and freeing the King, Grima belonged to Legolas. And if they captured him after he ripped the worm’s cold heart from his chest, so be it. Théo’s death would be avenged.

“I just pray to Béma that Eowyn has not come to harm,” Eomer said as they rode along the plains.

“I regret not being able to watch over her, but after what happened, I could not stay in the city, and Eowyn would not leave your uncle to Grima,” Legolas admitted. He gave a brief thought of her standing in full Rohirric gear, and smiled to himself. Dernhelm she had called herself, an alias name should she need one. “She is stronger than you know, Eomer. She has been taught well. Eowyn can fend off Grima’s advances. He would be smart to stay clear of that particular Shieldmaiden.”

“Not if he has drawn up papers and forced her into a marriage,” said Eomer, gravely. “I would not put it past Wormtongue to make his move while no one is there to help her.”

Legolas’ heart sunk at the thought of it. He suddenly had a vision of Eowyn standing upon the altar, Grima’s bony hands intertwined with hers. Her face was pale and her eyes sunken and dark, not unlike Théoden. Legolas remembered the grotesque talisman found in Grima’s room and the knife with the odd runes upon the blade, the very knife that Róta had been ordered to forge. A ceremonial blade, Legolas wondered? A chill broke out on his skin. The sooner they got to Edoras, the better.

The company had just passed another rocky outcrop, when Eomer and Legolas heard someone cry out, “Aye, Riders of the Mark!”

Legolas turned and looked back, seeing a tall man with a head of dark hair stepping out from behind a bolder, waving his arm to draw them over, “Who might that be?” he asked Eomer.

“I don’t know, but we are finding out right now.” Eomer raised his spear and shouted to his men. The entire company turned and galloped back to the rock formation.

Standing alone in the open plain was a man and, much to Legolas’ surprise, a dwarf. At least he thought it was a dwarf, for he had never seen one in person. Elhadron had spoken of the dwarves also. They were said to be concerned with the riches of the earth rather than making alliances with other races. They kept to themselves, digging deep in their caverns for gold and jewels, but they were mostly known for their hot tempers and dislike of elves. Already, Legolas felt animosity for this being, “Seems a peculiar thing, don’t you think?” he asked Eomer before they were upon the strangers.

“Indeed,” Eomer answered warily, “Legolas, ready your bow and keep your eyes upon them. I suspect some kind of trickery.”

The company surrounded the two strangers, closing in on them, and trapping them inside a circle of men on horseback. Legolas rode next to Eomer, his bow in one hand, and an arrow in the other, resting at his side. No one was quicker at nocking an arrow than Legolas. One wrong move, one flash of a blade, and the strangers would find out just how quick an elf really was.

Eomer demanded to know what their business was, and where they had come from. The blacked haired man stepped forward and spoke. They had traveled far apparently, originating from Rivendell. Many of their company they had been lost along the way, one of them being Gandalf the Grey. Théodred had told Legolas about the old grey wizard and his visits to Rohan. He had been a friend of Théoden’s, but so had Saruman, Legolas reminded himself.

The strangers had also traveled into Lothlórien, and Legolas’ ear perked up at this bit of news. He wondered if they had met Calariel while they were there, wondered if they had seen her since. His curiosity was quashed when the man said they had not been to Fangorn.

Eomer seemed unsatisfied with their story and questioned their visit to Lothlórien, for the men of Rohan were superstitious about that part of the world. They thought of the Lady of Light as a very powerful and dangerous enchantress who could cast spells and weaken men’s hearts and minds. They believed that any man who entered the Golden Wood, would never be seen again, or if he was, he would not be the same person.

Legolas thought that this man—though he was quite disheveled, unclean and unshaven—seemed to be in control of his own thoughts and words. He seemed set on a mission of some sort, and a very important one by the look of him.

Throughout the interrogation, Legolas couldn’t help notice that the dwarf said nothing, but kept a wary eye on the elf, while the man spoke for them both. Eomer noticed too, for he abandoned his attention from the dark haired man and brought his line of site to the dwarf, “You … you let your companion do all the talking. A little too quite if you ask me. Perhaps Lorien’s sorceress has cast a spell on you, silencing your tongue,” Eomer accused, “Can you not even give me your name, Master Dwarf?”

Legolas moved the hand with the arrow closer to the bow, ready for whatever might transpire. The tension between these two was thick as fog.

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed as he positioned himself, legs spread and feet securely placed upon the dirt. He carried an ax, which he now leaned on as he glared up at Eomer, “Give me your name, horse-master, and I shall give you mine, and more besides,”* he said.

Legolas had heard enough. Quick as a flint strike, he nocked his arrow and drew on the string, aiming it directly between the dwarf’s eyes. The rest of the men, though their reaction was delayed, brought the points of their spears down to the two travelers, ready to skewer them at a moment’s notice.

“You dare to speak to my captain with such disrespect? Choose your words more carefully, Dwarf,” Legolas warned.

Eomer, being a fair-minded leader of men, laid a hand on Legolas’ arm and pushed it down. Legolas loosened the tension on the string, but kept his arrow upon the rest. Eomer slid from his horse, his tall muscular form towering above the dwarf as he regarded him, “As for that, the stranger should declare himself first. Yet I am named Eomer son of Eomund, and am called Third Marshal of the Riddermark.”*

The dwarf gave his name as Gimli son of Gloin, and then proceeded to accuse Eomer of being thick-headed and foolish for not being able to see the Lady Galadriel as anything but fair beyond his simple thoughts. Legolas watched Eomer’s fingers curl into fists as he stood and accepted this abuse. Then he placed one hand upon the hilt of his sword, and through clenched teeth said, “I would cut off your head, beard, and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground.”*

Gimli shifted, and the head of his ax left the ground. Legolas aimed his bow once again. He was finished with this unruly talk. After all that he and Eomer had been through, the last thing they needed was to deal with a foolish dwarf who didn’t know when to hold his tongue. “Lift that ax another hair’s width, Gimli son of Gloin, and you shall find my arrow planted between your eyes.”

The dwarf made a grumbling noise in his throat, and opened his mouth to respond to these threats, when the man he was with clapped a hand on Gimli’s shoulder, steadying him from making any wrong moves. “You have not yet asked for my name, so I will tell you and hopefully put an end to your suspicions. I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur,” he declared, “And this is Andúril.” Aragorn grasped the hilt of his sword. The Riders edged their spearheads closer to Aragorn, but Eomer threw a hand up in the air, stopping them from any further movement. Only then did Aragorn unsheathe his sword, showing it to Eomer as proof of his credentials.

Eomer gazed upon the sword flashing in the sun, “It is indeed Narsil remade. You are the true heir to the throne of Gondor,” he said in amazement.

“I have not yet claimed that title, nor shall I until my mission is complete.” Aragorn told Eomer of their pursuit of a group of Uruk-hai who had kidnapped two of their traveling companions. Hobbits, he had called them, small like children, yet quick of mind and wit. They had been tracking the enemy on foot for days, and thought they were gaining on them, but lost sight of them.

Eomer raised a challenging brow, “You keep strange companions, Aragorn, but to answer your question, we came upon a group of orcs and Uruk-hai a few days ago. We slew them all, and burned the bodies.”

For the first time, the dwarf showed an emotion other than anger, “Did you happen to see our friends among them? They might have been bound and kept outside of their camp.” His voice was desperate for information.

Eomer looked at Legolas, but the elf slowly shook his head. Then Eomer turned back to Gimli, “I am sorry, but we were so engaged in battle, we did not see any hobbits. Perhaps they escaped before the orcs made camp.”

“Can you tell us where you fought?” Gimli asked, “We would like to see for ourselves whether our friends were there or not, no matter what the outcome.”

Eomer pointed in the direction from which they traveled, “At the edge of the forest, but you would be wise not to enter that wood. It’s been said that a stranger walks beneath its leaves, apparition or flesh, I could not say.”

“Fangorn?” Gimli responded with hesitancy.

Legolas could sense the dwarf’s extreme concern for these hobbits, and his fear of the forest. Serve him right to get knocked on the head by one of the trees as he tried to enter, the elf thought wickedly.

“Legolas, a word with you?” Eomer asked, bringing the elf from his thoughts. They left the circle of men to talk in private. Eomer crossed his arms and glanced off towards the forest, “I think you should go with them.”

“What?” said Legolas, “I think that is absurd. You know we must make for Edoras.”

“I must go, but you … Legolas, after what you told me, if you enter the city, you will be slain,” Eomer answered, “This has played upon my mind for the past few days now. I’ve already lost one brother. I’m not prepared to lose another.”

“And what about you?” Legolas retorted, “You are wanted for treason.”

“Yes, but they will not execute me, not without a trial. Worst thing that could happen would be to end up in the cells, but even then, I have my men who will stand up for me. Grima and his henchmen will not give you a choice. They’ll fire upon you before you reach the gates. No, Legolas, I think it is best that you do not return to Edoras … not yet. Besides, I think these two could use your skills. Help them find these hobbits, and then return to the city. By that time, I hope to have Grima thrown down from his mischief.”

Legolas bowed his head in thought. He had wanted to return to Fangorn and find Calariel again, but he had also sworn to protect King Théoden and Rohan. He knew Eomer spoke truthfully about returning to Edoras. He was an escaped prisoner, a criminal charged with a most heinous crime. There was no one to speak on his behalf, no witnesses. It was his word against Róta’s, and he had no doubt that her story would be believed.

With a heavy sigh, he agreed with Eomer. “Alright, I will take them to Fangorn, but if we do not find their friends or any sign of them, I must part company with them and come to Edoras. My duty lies with Rohan. You know this, Eomer, and if anything, Théodred would expect it of me.”

“Yes, but he also knew that you would leave someday, to return to your home, to find a way to cleanse it of evil. You mustn’t forget where you came from, Legolas. Rohan was never meant to be permanent. Perhaps returning to Fangorn and finding the elf woman will help you find your way.”

Legolas was about to retaliate, but Eomer stopped him, “Yes, I know what you will say, and Rohan still needs you. I need you, but not just yet. It’s too dangerous at this point. Go with Aragorn and Gimli, and then come to Edoras. Give me some time to clear the way for you.”

Legolas nodded, “Be careful of Grima. He plays with dark magic.”

“I will,” answered Eomer. The two friends grasped forearms and said their farewells before returning to the travelers. Eomer leapt upon Firefoot, and whistled loudly. One of the men led a riderless horse by the reins, bringing it to Aragorn. The horse was fixed with bags full of food and supplies. “This is Hasufel. May he be as loyal to you as he was his last rider. All I ask is that you release him when he has fulfilled his purpose to you. Tell him to return home. He will know the way.”

“I will deliver him in person,” Aragorn smiled.

Legolas edged forward on Arod and the dwarf glared up at him, “You’re not sending him with us, are you? We already have a scout. Aragorn is the best there is. He could track a white cat in a snowstorm.”

“He may be able to track your hobbit friends, but he cannot help you enter Fangorn,” Legolas answered, “For that you will need an elf.”

“Bah,” grumbled Gimli as he approached Aragorn, “And you approve of this?”

“I would be grateful to have Legolas join us,” Aragorn said to Gimli, patting the dwarf’s shoulder.

“Fine,” Gimli said reluctantly, “Well, help me up then so we can be on our way.” He stood next to Aragorn analyzing the horse.

“Um, Gimli … I’m afraid there is no room for you on Hasufel. You’ll have to ride with Legolas.”

Gimli turned around, glaring at the elf. Legolas gave him an arrogant smile, glad that the dwarf was feeling put out. Gimli pointed at the horse, “He rides without a saddle. How do you expect me to ride bareback?”

“You could walk if you like, though your stout size would make it very difficult to keep up,” Legolas jostled.

Gimli made a groan like a bear waking from hibernation, and rancorously allowed Legolas to help him onto Arod’s back. Once he was settled, Legolas looked over his shoulder to Eomer, who nodded.

“Na lû,” Legolas called.

“Until later,” answered Eomer, repeating in Westron.

*quotes from Eomer and Gimli, Lord of the Rings-The Two Towers


	28. Written In Sand

Legolas rode in silence along with his new companions, as they made the day’s journey to the edge of Fangorn. He didn’t much care for having the dwarf ride with him. Gimli squirmed too much and it upset Arod, making him a bit irritable. He also grunted, moaned and complained under his breath in a language that Legolas did not know. He could only imagine the things the dwarf was saying about him. Better if he didn’t know the language, Legolas thought.

Aragorn had slowed his pace, and now rode alongside Legolas. He seemed to be waiting for the elf to speak, but Legolas was in no mood for conversation. He should have been with Eomer making their way back to Edoras, not with these two.

“So, Legolas,” Aragorn started, “how is it that an elf came to be a citizen of Rohan?”

“I escaped the burning of Mirkwood along with my uncle. From there, he saw us safely to the Woodsmen. We made that our home until the orcs attacked the village and killed him. Fearing for my safety, the Woodsmen brought me to Rohan, where Théoden took me under his roof and gave me a home. I have sworn an oath to my adopted country, to protect its King and its people … and I should be with them now.” The last part he whispered to himself.

Aragorn nodded and looked off in the distance, “Gimli and I know all about keeping oaths, for we have sworn to protect the people we traveled with.”

“And how has that gone for you,” said Legolas dryly as he noticed there was only the man and the dwarf left from his party.

Gimli shifted again, groaning his disapproval, “You do not know the perils we have been put through, Master Elf. Some of our company perished trying to protect the others. Some we had to let go so that they could find their own way, and some were stolen from our safe keeping.”

“You do not need to lecture me about pitfalls and separations, Master Dwarf, for I have survived under those conditions since I was born,” Legolas retaliated.

Sensing an argument arising, Aragorn interrupted the conversation, “Eomer mentioned your king was ailing. I am a healer of sorts. Perhaps when we’ve found our friends, I can come to Edoras as be of some help.”

Legolas knew that Eomer carefully worded Théoden’s situation. It would not be good for strangers to know that the king’s mind had been bewitched. Yet, Legolas sensed Aragorn’s concern. “Do you know my king?”

“Yes, I know Théoden, and I also knew his father, King Thengel, whom I served during his reign.”

Legolas was surprised by this. He had heard Aragorn tell Eomer that he was the heir of Isildur, but he hadn’t thought he held the same traits. “You have the longevity of the Númenóreans then?”

“Yes,” Aragorn answered.

“Good to know,” said Legolas.

They rode on quietly for a while longer. Legolas considered telling Aragorn the true nature of Théoden’s ailment. There was no reason not to trust this man. He was the heir to the throne of Gondor. He held the sword of his ancestors who reigned before him. Perhaps it was in the best interest of Rohan to tell him what ill omens had fallen upon the Riddermark.

“You asked about Théoden. He is not ailing from age or from illness. He has been locked in a spell, one cast upon him by Saruman the White, but he does not work alone. He has recruited the King’s advisor and turned his mind to evil. Together, they keep Théoden in a poisonous haze.”

“Then the King’s son must rule in his stead,” Aragorn inquired, “Why has he not cast this man from the city?”

Legolas sighed, “The King’s son is dead.”

“Dead?” Gimli said from behind. He had been silent until this point.

Aragorn glanced to the dwarf, “It is far worse than we thought.”

“What do mean?” Legolas asked.

“We have had dealings with Saruman also, before my company was split by death and kidnapping,” Aragorn explained, “We were making our way across the mountains when an unexplainably violent storm arose. Gandalf was with us and heard a voice in the wind … Saruman. He threw the mountain down around us, obstructing our path. We were forced to find an alternate route, and chose to pass through Moria. That’s where we lost Gandalf.”

Legolas could see that the old grey wizard was a dear friend of Aragorn’s, “I am sorry for your loss.”

“I am sorry for yours too,” Aragorn replied.

“Well,” Gimli chimed in, “it seems we all have a desire to confront Saruman.”

They did indeed have a lot more in common than Legolas might have thought upon first meeting these strangers. He began to feel better about his decision to come along with them. Perhaps they could help each other.

* * *

They reached the edge of Fangorn to find the pile of orcs still smoldering. “Is this where the battle took place?” Aragorn asked eagerly.

“Yes,” Legolas replied as he dismounted, “Eomer and his men happened upon this particular group and rushed them, hoping to take them by surprise.” He turned to help Gimli down, but was met with hostile opposition.

“I can manage it myself,” grumbled Gimli, as he struggled to get down from the horse.

Arod complained and stomped his feet, but Legolas laid his hands upon his horses head, and whispered softly in Sindarin to calm him. Gimli landed with a thud, and dusted his travels from his heavy coat. He looked at the pile of orc ashes, then further on to the burial mound surrounded by the spears of the men who laid there. Gimli shook his head, “The race of Men, always rushing into a fight. Perhaps if they had planned their strategy better, that mound would be smaller.”

Legolas took offence to this statement and rounded on Gimli, “Those men were my friends. They were honorable men. They died protecting their country, their King, and their loved ones. ‘Tis the way of the Rohirrim, and I’ll not have you speak of them in such a manner.” 

Gimli shuffled from one leg to the other, and then walked off, “Come, Aragorn, let’s see if we can find any evidence of Merry and Pippin having been here.”

Aragorn went towards the turned up grass, where the battle had been fought while Gimli poked around in the burnt ashes. Legolas decided to follow Aragorn. He watched the man search the ground, intent on his purpose. “These friends of yours must be very much admired by you both,” said Legolas.

“I’d never abandon anyone I considered a friend, would you?” said Aragorn, as he picked up a stone and examined it. “I’m afraid that they are in more danger than just being taken by orcs. The enemy believes that they carry something of great importance with them. The fact that they were kidnapped and not killed tells me that the enemy has other plans for them, and I will not leave them to suffer at the hands of my foe.”

“Such was my indecision to come with you and the dwarf. Eomer will be in trouble once he reaches Edoras, and I cannot help but feel that I should be with him. Maybe if I had been with Théodred, he would not be dead now. Both are like brothers to me, and my heart pains me to think I will never see one of them again,” Legolas confessed.

“Aragorn!” Gimli called, “I’ve found one of their belts.”

Aragorn and Legolas rushed over to the smoldering pile. Gimli held his ax out, a small leather belt dangling from it. Aragorn stared at it and shook his head, “No,” he whispered in disbelief.

The belt dropped from the head of Gimli’s ax. He lifted his weapon in his hands and plodded towards Legolas, “You better think quick and hard, Elf, and try to remember seeing the hobbits that night, or I’ll pound the memory from your thick skull with the side of my ax.”

Legolas raised his bow and reached for an arrow from his quiver, prepared to defend himself if the dwarf was serious, “You’d be a fool to try.”

“Gimli!” Aragorn yelled, “That will be enough.” Gimli lowered his ax, but he did not step back. Neither did Legolas for that matter. Aragorn walked between them and regarded them both, “We all have a common goal, but it will do us no good to quarrel with each other.”

Gimli and Legolas stood down, and the dwarf looked again at the burnt bodies, “Do you suppose this was their fate?”

“If it was, their deaths will not be in vain,” said Aragorn, and he turned his attention to Legolas, “And neither will Théodred’s.”

Legolas bowed his head and closed his eyes, “Savo hîdh nen gurth, Théodred.” Have peace in death.

Aragorn nudged Gimli and both bowed their heads, but as they did, Aragorn saw something half buried in the dirt. He dropped to his knees and wiped his hand over the ground.

“What is it?” Gimli asked. Legolas opened his eyes and watched as Aragorn pulled a piece of rope out of the ground.

“It has been cut,” said Aragorn, “There is still a possibility that they escaped.”

“To where?” Gimli asked warily.

“Fangorn Forest,” said Legolas, “I’ll show you the way in. The trees know me.”

“Aragorn?” pleaded Gimli, obviously not too keen on going into the woods.

“Worry not, Master Dwarf,” Legolas smiled, “You have an elf for a guide. I suggest you put away your weapons though. The trees will see it as a threat, especially your ax.” He nodded to Aragorn, “Leave the horses here.”

“Bah,” Gimli complained, but he did as Legolas said and attached the ax to his back. Then he followed Legolas and Aragorn into the forest.

* * *

After following Aragorn and his tracking abilities, they still hadn’t found the hobbits, only broken branches, crushed foliage and a smearing of orc blood here or there. Legolas paid close attention to the creaks and moans of the trees.

“The trees are not happy about our presence,” Legolas informed them, “But they will tolerate us.” Then he turned to Gimli, “Unless they sense a threat.”

Gimli exaggeratedly stomped up a slight incline, “What kind of threat could a Dwarf pose to a tree? We prefer the solidness of stone rather than these termite ridden—”

Just then there was a loud rumbling as one of the trees became agitated with the strangers. Gimli released his ax, holding it defensively in front of him.

“Put that away before you get us all killed,” Aragorn demanded.

Legolas glared at the dwarf, “If he is more of a burden than a help to you, Aragorn, one word and I’ll have him thrashed by a tree.”

Gimli turned to Legolas, “Why you pointy-eared, no good, rotten, son of a goblin’s—”

Aragorn once again intervened, tired of being the adjudicator for these two. As he was reprimanding them, a noise caught Legolas’ attention. He shushed everyone, telling them to listen.

“Someone approaches,” Aragorn stated.

“Could it be the hobbits?” Gimli asked excitedly at a whisper.

Legolas closed his eyes and concentrated on the sounds of the forest, detecting anything that was out of place, “It is just one person. He moves like an elf, quiet footsteps, slow and sure. I do not think it is your friends.” He thought of Calariel, but the sound of the person’s strides were too long to be female.

Remembering a warning from Eomer about strange sightings in the area, Aragorn had an idea of who it might be. “This could be Saruman. These woods border Isengard, and if he knows about the hobbits and his destroyed army, he could very well be looking for Merry and Pippin himself.”

Legolas eased his bow from his back and took an arrow from his quiver, “I have seen the kind of magic that he casts. One word, and we could all be put under his influence as he did with Théoden.”

Aragorn partially unsheathed his sword while Gimli brought out too smaller hatchets, good for throwing. Legolas stood between them, and while holding his bow at his side, he nocked an arrow, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

“We cannot let Saruman speak first. As soon as he appears to us, we must strike,” Aragorn instructed.

Legolas looked down at Gimli without turning his head, “I hope you are as good at throwing those as you are at throwing insults.” To his surprise, Gimli gave a short chuckle.

“I’d be willing to challenge you any day, Master Elf … my axes against your arrows,” Gimli said in answer.

“You may yet get your wish, Master Dwarf,” Legolas commented.

The trees beyond them glowed with soft white light. The stranger approached. Just as soon as he was within firing distance, Aragorn shouted, “Now!” and pulled his sword all the way from its sheath.

Gimli threw his hatchets, but the glowing figure deflected them with his staff. Legolas fired his bow, but the arrow curved strangely to the right, away from its target. Aragorn started to charge, sword in hand, but the hilt glowed red, burning him and making him drop his weapon. They were defenseless against this being’s power.

“Who dares to strike out against me?” said a low angered voice. The glow intensified, blinding the three travelers.

“I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, and I will not succumb to your black magic, Saruman! Now, you will tell me where the hobbits are, and if any harm has come to them—”

The being laughed, “Saruman you say? Why, I am not him, but I do know what happened to your hobbit friends. I came upon them just a day or so ago. They are safe and in the company of the Ents.”

Gimli, without taking his eyes from the glowing being, asked Legolas, “These Ents, they are not dangerous are they?”

“Not usually,” Legolas answered, “But if what he says is true, your friends are in no danger.” Legolas quietly wondered which Ent it might have been and whether it was Beechbone.

“I demand that you show yourself.” Aragorn was obviously through with these games.

The man before them stepped forward, and seemed to emerge from the light that hid his identity. Cloaked all in white, hair and beard as silvery as fresh fallen snow, stood Gandalf.

Aragorn and Gimli gasped, dropping to a knee. Legolas looked left and then right, watching their sudden movements. Then he too thought it best to take a knee before the wizard. Gandalf walked to Aragorn, and taking him by the elbow, made the man rise to his feet. Legolas and Gimli stood once again and watched the interaction between the others.

Aragorn was in shock and disbelief at the sight that stood before him, “How can this be? I saw you on the bridge with the Balrog. I saw you fall into that fiery abyss as he caught you by the leg and pulled you down. I mourned for you. We all did.”

“It is true, Aragorn, I did fall, and fought and killed my foe as we plummeted to the ends of the earth. And then I relinquished my life, but my duties have not been fulfilled yet. The Valar sent me back to complete my mission, and blessed me with a new name, for I am Gandalf the White.”

“Like Saruman?” Gimli asked.

“No, Gimli, I am nothing like him. He uses his power out of selfishness. I am here to reverse that, as well as other things,” Gandalf smiled. As he finished, he looked to Legolas, and his eyes lit up suddenly. “I remember you, Legolas, elf of Rohan … very peculiar thing to me, even now.”

“I do not remember meeting you,” Legolas said.

“No, we did not meet, but Théoden told me about you last I had visited Rohan.” 

“You are a friend of the King, are you not?”

“Why yes, I have counseled Théoden on many occasions.”

“If you are indeed who and what you say you are, then you may be the only one who can save the King.” Legolas went on to tell Gandalf about Saruman, Grima and the control that they held over Théoden.

“Then this is our first order of business. Rohan will need its King,” Gandalf said, and he turned to leave, “Come along, I know a faster way out of the forest.”

They had walked along for some time when the terrain became familiar to Legolas. “I have been here before. Up ahead is the home of Beechbone. Just through that grouping of trees is a glade.”

“You have met one of the Ents?” Aragorn questioned.

“Yes, I made Fangorn my home for a short while.”

“Fangorn? But I thought you lived in Rohan,” Gimli added.

“I had to … depart from my adoptive home for a while,” Legolas said, carefully choosing his words.

“Couldn’t play well with the others, was it?” Gimli jostled, “You have a sharp tongue, Master Elf, which will always get you in trouble.”

“I do not understand why you have such animosity towards me. If I remember correctly, it was you who verbally attacked me first, and I having done nothing to you,” Legolas argued.

“Dwarves have never been very accepting of your kind, least of all the Mirkwood elves.”

“And just what did Mirkwood do to your kind, Master Dwarf?”

Gimli stopped walking and rounded on Legolas. This was obviously a sore subject, “It was your own king who stood by and watched my people get slaughtered. It was because of Mirkwood that the Dwarves were chased out of Erebor. We lost our home, our King and all that we held dear to us, and your precious Mirkwood did nothing.”

“That cannot be true. The elves arrived but it was too late,” Legolas said as he remembered the stories from long ago.

“Oh, the elves arrived alright, and they turned from us. Cowards, all of you!”

“Mirkwood would never have let anyone suffer as they watched at a distance.”

“Were you there, Master Elf?” Gimli asked, voice raised in anger.

Legolas met Gimli’s eyes and saw the pain that still dwelled there. “Were you?”

Gimli grumbled and then went on, “It does not matter. My grandfather was there and witnessed first-hand the destruction, and the cries for help. He remembered the smell of his kinsmen’s blood, and of the smoke from the dragon’s breath. He told us many times how he watched as your king shook his head and left the dwarves to suffer. Brought it upon ourselves, they said, but when people are under attack, that is no time to teach a lesson.”

“And I suppose you think Mirkwood deserved what happened to it, the burning, the destruction, the death of all but one,” Legolas said heatedly.

Gimli took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “There you are wrong, Master Elf.” The edge of anger had dropped from his voice. “What my grandfather witnessed that day in Erebor, what he told us in detail so that we would not forget, I would not wish upon my worst enemy. Did the elves deserve it? No, but they might have helped to bring it upon themselves.”

Legolas was at a loss for words. He hadn’t known this side of the story, only what was written by the elves, that it was the greed of the dwarves that brought the dragon out of hiding and in search of the wealth of Erebor. Still, he found it hard to believe that his king would not help, “Mirkwood must have had its reasons not to intervene.”

“It might have, but we will never get the chance to ask, now will we? What happened at Erebor is stamped on the mind of every dwarf, and Mirkwood will never have the opportunity to rectify itself, and the rift between my people and yours will never be mended.”

Legolas walked on, sadness for both their situations heavy in his heart. He looked over his shoulder and back to Gimli who followed behind, “Then the rift you speak of is between the dwarves and myself, for my people are gone. I am all that is left, and the burden is mine now. So be it, Master Dwarf.”

The company approached the edge of the glade and entered into the sunlit clearing. Legolas rushed in first, hoping to find Calariel still there, but he had been gone for days now. He called out to her, but there was no answer, no sign of either Calariel or Beechbone, the Ent whose home this was.

“Who do you call for, Legolas?” Gandalf asked.

“An elf, one of the Galadhrim,” Legolas said as he continued to scan the area. “I thought she might have waited until I returned, but I guess she went back to Lothlórien.”

“She?” asked Aragorn.

“She’d been injured and I helped heal her. Then Beechbone came for me, and told me about Eomer and the fight with the orcs. I hated leaving her, but I had no choice. I had to go to Eomer.”

“You are quite loyal to Rohan, aren’t you?” Gimli asked, surprised at Legolas’ concern for these humans.

“Of course I am. They are my people, my family. I owe them that much for taking me in and making me one of them,” Legolas answered. Then he walked the perimeter of the glade, searching for any sign of Calariel or where she might have gone, though he was sure she’d gone back to Lothlórien.

He had almost forgotten, with everything that had happened recently, and was about to walk through it when he looked down at the sandy spot where his next footstep would have fallen. Legolas stopped and shuffled backwards before he ruined the message in the sand. There he stood, unmoving, staring at the patch of dirt in front of him, shocked by the name written there, the name that no one had used since he was an elfling. He could still hear his father’s voice calling to him, see the warmth of his smile, feel the love in his embrace. Only his father and Elhadron had called him by this name, and now, here it was written plainly in the sand at his feet.

“Laiqalassë, come to Lothlórien,” it read … his name in Quenya.

Legolas did not hear the other’s calling to him, asking him what he saw. They came and stood next to him, following his line of vision.

“Laiqalassë,” Aragorn read aloud in a soft whisper, and then he looked to Gandalf with complete befuddlement.

Gandalf seemed confused too, and he took a step closer to Legolas, looking the elf over more closely. Gimli, unaware of anything that transpired between the wizard and the man, bent low and read the name, “Gandalf, isn’t that the name of the young elvish Prin—”

“Gimli,” Aragorn interrupted abruptly, “Perhaps we should see if we can find the horses. The edge of the forest isn’t far. Perhaps they came this way.” Upon entering Fangorn Forest, the horses became spooked and ran off.

“Very well then, but I wish someone would explain to me what is going on,” Gimli grumbled, allowing Aragorn to lead him away.

Legolas was so focused on the name written in the sand that he hadn’t noticed the other two leave the glade. Gandalf, however, stayed where he was, standing next to Legolas.

“You know this name?” the wizard asked quietly.

“It is the name my father used to call me, a name I have not seen or heard in a very long time,” Legolas answered as if he was in a trance. “It is my begetting name.”

“Who was your father, Legolas?” Gandalf carefully asked his questions.

“My father was a soldier of Mirkwood, one of the King’s own men, sworn to uphold our laws and protect its people.”

“And his name … what was his name?” Gandalf asked gently.

Legolas huffed in a breathy laugh as he thought, “It might seem strange to you, but I never knew his name. To me he was just Ada.” Legolas lifted his head to find Gandalf watching him with a peculiar look in the old man’s eye. “You must remember that I was very young, just an elfling, and my father was overly protective of me. He kept me guarded from outsiders. I never saw him interact with anyone but staff, and they were silent, only nodding when spoken to. I suppose it was because he was a warrior that he took these precautions.

It was my uncle who told me his name. Well, he was not my uncle by blood. Elhadron was my father’s friend, but I loved him like family and considered him my uncle. After Mirkwood was attacked, we escaped and came to live with the Woodsmen. Eventually, the enemy found us there. Elhadron was fatally injured, and as he lay dying in my arms, he whispered my father’s name, barely getting it out before his soul departed. ‘Tharan,’ he had said, and then he was gone.”

Gandalf clasped Legolas’ shoulder and turned him so that they faced each other. The wizard looked deep into Legolas’ eyes, took the elf’s chin in his fingers, and turned his fair head from side to side, examining every part of the details etched into the immortal face, and at the last, fastened his grey eyes on him.

“I should have known,” Gandalf said, “I should have seen it, but since my re-embodiment, my memory has been fuzzy. I see it now though, in your eyes. They are a mirror image to your mother’s.”

“My mother?” Legolas cocked his head and knitted his brows, “Did you know my mother?”

“Yes, I knew her. Very beautiful she was, very intelligent, and very much in love with your father.”

Legolas bowed his head and slowly shook it side to side, “I was only a babe in arms when she died, but I remember the sound of her singing to me, though I cannot put a face to the voice.”

“It was such a tragedy what happened to her. I could not be there for her burial, but I mourned for her still,” Gandalf admitted.

“My father used to tell me that it was my mother who named me. She was a Noldo, and so gave me my Quenya name, the one you see written in the sand.” Legolas looked once more at the message. “How do you suppose the elleth knew, Gandalf?”

“I think the answer lies in her message,” Gandalf replied.

“I don’t understand.”

“Has no one told you of your family, Legolas? Has no one told you of the line you were born unto?”

Legolas shrugged his shoulders, “There was not much to tell, I guess. Son of a soldier, what more is there to know?”

Gandalf gazed at him compassionately, “My dear boy, you really do not know. Legolas, your father … Tharan was not his name. I assume your uncle was unable to tell you the whole name before he died.”

“What do you mean?” said Legolas, confused.

“Your father’s name … was … Thranduil.”

Legolas huffed nervously in disbelief, “You must be mistaken. Thranduil was the name of the king.”

Gandalf smiled warmly, “Yes it was, and you dear Legolas, are the Prince of Mirkwood.”


	29. Rohan's Redemption

Legolas sat on his knees, his Quenya name staring back at him from the sand. He was in complete shock at Gandalf’s admission that Thranduil, King of Mirkwood had been his father. This couldn’t be true, he thought over and over. He knew who his father was. He had been one of the king’s soldiers, not the king himself. “You’re wrong. His name was Tharan. I saw him fight with the other guards and lose his life. Would a king do such a thing?”

“Your father would,” Gandalf answered, “Thranduil never saw himself above others, but as an equal, especially during times of war.”

Legolas remained silent, trying as hard as he might to think back to his childhood for anything to confirm what Gandalf was telling him was true. But his father had kept him isolated, and there was nothing that would ever make him think that he was anything more than a royal guard.

There was something else though, something Calariel had said to him. It made no sense at the time, and Legolas had nearly forgotten about it, but now it seemed like there might be a link. “When the elleth was suffering from fevered dreams, she came to, looked me straight in the eyes, and called me Prince. I thought she was hallucinating, but—”

Gandalf knelt on the ground next to Legolas, interrupting his train of thought. With the end of his staff, the wizard traced a circle around the name, Laiqalassë, “She must have recognized you, though I do not know how.” Then Gandalf drew a line beneath the word Lothlórien, “There is but one way to find out.”

Legolas understood Gandalf’s meaning, but he shook his head in disagreement, “I cannot go. I cannot abandon Eomer. Already, I have lost one brother. I will not lose another. It does not matter who I am or where I came from. Rohan is in peril. Eomer will be arrested once he reaches Meduseld. There will be no one left if I do not go.” Legolas got to his feet, “I hope you still mean to come to Rohan, as well as Aragorn and Gimli.” 

Gandalf smiled, his dark eyes sparkling with memory, “You have your father’s obstinacy, I see, and your mother’s devotion. Good … very good.” Gandalf pulled himself to his feet using his staff. “We will ride to Edoras, but when this matter with Théoden is taken care of, I would have you know the story of your parents, if you are willing to hear it.” The wizard held a hand out to help Legolas up.

Legolas hesitated, “Only after Théoden’s mind is freed and Eomer and his men are safe from Grima, then you can tell me what you know.” He took Gandalf’s hand, and got back on his feet, surprised by the strength of the wizard. There was more to him than met the eye, Legolas thought. 

Gandalf spread the sand with his foot, erasing Calariel’s message before leaving the glade, “For now, we keep your Quenya name to ourselves. There are those who would not be too enthused to know the heir of Mirkwood’s throne still lives. Your uncle was smart to refer to you by your Sindarin name.”

Gandalf and Legolas made their way to the edge of the forest where they found Aragorn and Gimli, but no horses. Aragorn addressed Gandalf, unsatisfied with their situation, “It is no use. We have looked and called, but our horses are nowhere to be found.”

“I’ll be the first to admit that I’d rather walk than get on that beast’s back again, but it is too far to Rohan, and there is no time to spare. Unless you can puff on that pipe of yours and conjure up some magic, Gandalf, I’m afraid we are doomed,” Gimli complained.

Gandalf laughed quietly, “I’ll do one better than that, Gimli son of Gloin.” The wizard took a few steps forward and whistled long and loud so that the song drifted with the wind. Nothing happened at first. No clouds swirled overhead, no strong gale stirred up the fallen leaves. Then, after a few moments, they heard a far off cry, and in the distance, three horses galloped towards them. 

“We had only two horses,” Gimli said, “Who is the third?”

Legolas saw them before the others, and was shocked by the glimmering white beast that led Arod and Hasufel to them. “Gandalf, is that Shadowfax?”

“Yes it is, chief of the mearas,” Gandalf answered proudly, “Faster than any other horse of Middle-earth, fearless, extraordinarily intelligent, and my friend for many long years.”

The three horses approached, and Arod went directly to Legolas, looking relieved and content to be amongst such equestrian nobility. Legolas noticed that he was hardly winded after the run, as if Shadowfax’s presence had lent him strength and endurance.

The travelers mounted their steeds. Legolas looked to Gimli, who had ridden with him on their way to Fangorn Forest. He held a hand out to the dwarf, offering help, but Gimli would not meet the elf’s eye.

“I would prefer to ride with Aragorn from now on,” said the dwarf with a hint of mistrust in his voice.

“And here I thought we were becoming friends,” Legolas replied lacking enthusiasm.

It was obvious that Aragorn had explained the meaning of the Quenya name they had seen. Gimli had made it quite clear earlier that he had blamed King Thranduil for the destruction of Erebor and the great loss of kin. Now he knew that Legolas was the son of the elf that he held responsible. This left a nagging doubt on Legolas’ conscience. Would his father have made such a seemingly awful decision to allow people to die without doing what he could to help? The father he had seen fighting against the surge of orcs as they broke into the throne room would not have stood by and done nothing. He would have rode on the front lines and charged in with his men, slaughtering any orcs who got in his way. There had to be an answer. There had to be a reason other than the one Gimli believed to be true. Perhaps the mystery would be solved once he had a chance to speak with Gandalf. For now, there were more important matters to attend, and Legolas focused his energy on Edoras and what would happen once they arrived.

* * *

The hill in which Edoras was built upon was unmistakable, rising out of the vast flat plains. At one time, the sight of the gilded roof of Meduseld called to Legolas like a beacon of hope and homecoming. Now, he was not sure what to expect. He could be sure he’d see no warm welcome.

As they got a good deal closer, Aragorn slowed the horses to a trot, not wanting their approach to seem too hasty and cause alarm. The sight of the strangers would be alarm enough. Legolas knew it would not matter how fast or slow they rode into the city. Suspicions would raise immediately, especially with Grima in charge.

The elf observed his companions. He had told no one about the condition of his departure from Rohan. Riding with them into the city would put them at risk, and he did not want them arrested for associating with a felon. It was time to tell them.

“I am not sure I should go any further with you. Maybe I should find my own way in, and look for you within the gates,” he said, leading Arod between the other two horses.

“What is it, Legolas?” asked Aragorn.

Legolas looked out over the plains towards the city, “I told you that I did not leave Rohan under the best circumstances. Returning to the city will mean my arrest. You see, I was charged with a heinous crime and locked in the cells from which I escaped. The accusations against me were false. I was set up thanks to Grima and his … accomplice,” he said carefully, “and my recapture will surely mean a march to the gallows.”

“I find it hard to believe that they think an elf could commit a crime so terrible, he would be sentenced to death,” Aragorn commented.

Gimli huffed, “What did Grima do, sneak a ruby into your pocket and cry thief?”

“He hired a woman to seduce me, knock me unconscious, and accuse me of rape,” Legolas said abruptly, “I escaped the day before I was to be hung.”

Aragorn, Gandalf, even Gimli all seemed shocked by Legolas’ admission, and rode in silence as they registered the information. Aragorn dropped back and glanced at Gandalf, “What shall we do then? This is a matter between Legolas and Edoras, and though I do not believe it to be true, we do not have the authority to intervene.”

In a very calm and easy manner, Gandalf answered, “We shall not let anything happen to Legolas. He will ride in with us, though perhaps we should disguise him as well as we can.”

“He can wear my cloak,” offered Aragorn as he pulled the garment from his shoulders, and tossed it to Legolas. “At least it will get you through the main gates. The hood will help hide your face.”

Legolas draped the tattered old cloak around himself. It smelled of the wild, and some part of him found comfort from the scent of trees, smoke and earth. The hood was large, covering hair and head, allowing him to shrink into its depths. But this would not be enough, he thought as he looked at Arod, “They will recognize my horse.”

“They will recognize mine also, but I will just tell them the truth, that Eomer lent them to us, and asked that we bring them back as a sign of friendship,” Aragorn said.

“And if that does not work, they will have an ax wielding dwarf to deal with,” Gimli added, taking everyone by surprise. They regarded him with stunned faces, for it was well known that he was not very fond of Legolas. He glanced around at the others. “What?” he said as he adjusted his shoulders pugnaciously, “I may not have much use for the elves, but even I know that they cannot perform an act such as the one in which he has been accused. Besides, this Grima fellow sounds like he needs a little reprimanding.”

“He is not a common foe, Gimli son of Gloin. Grima looks pale and weak, but his power does not come from physical strength. He has deeply assembled himself with Saruman. While the White Wizard rules from Isengard, he uses Grima to rule from Rohan. Together, they have turned the King against his own family. Part of their plan was to turn Eomer and Théodred against each other. When that did not work, they searched to destroy them, and succeeded with one. Eomer and Théo are the only ones that stand between Grima and the throne. I was merely a nuisance and easily expendable. What animosity lies between Grima and me is personal.” Legolas adjusted himself upon Arod, shoulders squared, head held high, bow and quiver neatly tucked beneath the cloak. His eyes narrowed on the city, ready to take on any challenge, ready to meet Wormtongue again, this time without shackles and iron bars. “Grima is mine,” he said with rancor.

* * *

One of Grima’s guardsmen entered the room out of breath from the sprint to the advisor’s chamber, “My lord, strangers approach the city. Looks to be four of them. They ride Rohirric horses too, and one of them is the King’s mearas, Shadowfax.”

“Gandalf the Grey,” Grima said smugly, “Here a little sooner than I expected, but I am ready for him.” He turned to face the messenger, “What do the other’s look like?”

“One of them is a man with black hair and scruffy looking. A small stocky figure rides with him. We belief it to be a dwarf, my liege,” the man said anxiously. “The other is covered with a cloak. No one can see his face.”

“Very well, let them into the city and see that they come straight to Meduseld. We don’t need that nosey wizard poking around unnecessarily. When they reach the veranda, strip them of their weapons, and then allow them entry, but whatever you do, see to it that the wizard leaves his staff outside of this hall. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” the guardsman answered, and he ran off to relay the message.

Along the way, he drew the attention of Gamling, one of the last still true to King and country. The tall blond Rohir caught the messenger by the arm to stop him, “In a hurry, Drengar?” Gamling had known for a while that this particular guard worked for Grima. He also knew that he was weak when faced with confrontation. Poor choice for the position of guard, Gamling thought, but good for his own agenda.

“I have a message to deliver,” Drengar said as he pulled his arm free, “You will do well not to interfere.”

“And I am Captain of the Guard, so I suppose that message is for me. Now, tell me, and I’ll not toss you down the steps.”

Drengar gave up easily, “It is for the door guards, instructions about the approaching strangers.” He went on to tell Gamling all that he knew.

The Captain dismissed Drengar, and looked around the hall, finding two of his trusted men watching from the shadows. Gamling signaled to them and they approached. Then he relayed his plans, “The door guards are under Grima’s influence and will not leave their post, so I’ll just go and join them. If indeed it is Gandalf the Grey that approaches, then I think he brings help, whoever his company is. You two stay inside the hall and out of the way, in case there is any trouble.”

Gamling joined the two guards outside the grand wooden doors and waited. Just as Drengar had said, one of the men was indeed Gandalf. The old wizard looked tired and weak as he bent on his staff for support, and Gamling wondered what kind of trauma he had been through. Gandalf smiled kindly and nodded at the guards. Then he spoke to Gamling, asking to hold councel with King Théoden.

“You have permission, but you must leave your weapons outside of the hall. We know not the company you keep, and the King is suspicious of all outsiders,” Gamling announced. He watched as Gandalf signaled to his company with a nod, and they lay their weapons upon the stone floor of the veranda.

There was an odd manner about the one covered with the cloak. Gamling looked into the darkness of the hood, but he seemed to shrink back. He was also very reluctant to part with his weapon. Gandalf regarded the hidden stranger, and told him it was alright and to do as he was told.

Legolas’ heart raced with panic. As soon as the guards saw his elvish bow, they would know who he was. He was unsure of Gamling. Once, he had been a close friend and mentor, but there was no way to be sure that his mind hadn’t been turned towards Grima’s demands. With Gandalf’s urging, Legolas brought his bow and quiver out of hiding and laid them upon the ground. The two door guards looked at them curiously, but as they watched the cloaked figure lay two long knives next to the elvish bow, they had no more doubt who was beneath the hood.

Each guard held a sword at his side and started to unsheathe it, but Gamling was quicker, knocking one guard in the head with the hilt of his sword, and the other with his elbow. The guards fell to the ground, unconscious. Then Gamling turned back to the cloaked man, “Legolas?” he whispered.

Legolas knew by the man’s tone that he was still a friend, and he pushed the hood back slightly so his face came into the light, “It is good to see you again, Gamling.”

The man seemed allayed to see the elf standing before him, “Legolas,” he said again with relief, “We had no idea what happened to you. Eowyn was worried sick after you left. And then when Eomer told us he found you out near—”

“Eomer! He made it here? Where is he now?” Legolas demanded.

“Yes … yes, he is here, but—” Gamling took a deep breath, “He is locked up for treason. I guess you know that already. And you, you’re risking your life by being here. What are you thinking, man?”

“Well, I’ve got help,” Legolas said, smiling as he glanced between Gamling and his companions.

Gandalf stepped forward and addressed Gamling, “You just get us in to see the king, and keep Grima’s men from interfering.”

“I have men positioned within the hall,” Gamling announced.

Gandalf nodded and gestured for the others to follow him inside. When Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas reached to take back their weapons, the wizard stopped them, “Those will do us no good here. This is dark magic we are up against, but I am prepared,” he said, waving his hand over the end of his staff. The end glowed white like the light that surrounded Gandalf when the others found him in Fangorn Forest.

Gamling frowned, “Grima gave strict instructions not to allow you to bring your staff within the hall.”

The light went out on the staff, and it looked like an old worn piece of wood. Gandalf smiled, “Did he now? Well, you wouldn’t deprive an old man of his walking stick, would you?” And with that, the wizard bent forward leaning on his staff with one hand, and Legolas’ arm with the other.

Gamling winked, and then moved to the door, “Let me announce your arrival, and you may follow me in.”

Inside, the hall looked dark and dismal. The windows that Eowyn had so painstakingly cleared were once again covered. No fresh air has circulated within for some time. Legolas noticed how it smelled stuffy from old smoke and burnt wood. The fire pit was unused and there was a chill within the place. It felt like death inhabited Meduseld, grief and deception mingling together in the deep corners of what was once a place of celebration and warmth.

At the head of the hall, sitting upon his throne was an old withered form, shoulder’s slouched forward, long gray hair unruly and unkempt. Deep lines creased his face, and his eyes were glassed over as though there was no soul within the vessel. Had Legolas not seen him raise his head, he would have thought him to be a corpse, and wouldn’t put it past Grima to try such a morbid stunt.

And there stood the worm in his usual place at the King’s side. He looked paler than Legolas remembered, but his eyes were still just as dark and held that touch of fear that never quite seemed to disappear. Legolas’ eyes narrowed beneath the hood and his fingers itched to wrap around his scaly neck. From here, the elf could see that King Théoden was barely even a shell of his former self, and his heart wept at the sight, but he remained hidden beneath his disguise, waiting to see what Gandalf would do.

Gandalf led the company through the hall, still using Legolas as support to give a nonthreatening impression. Gimli and Aragorn walked side by side, but each one taking the opposite side of the aisle. Their eyes scanned the hall, mentally checking off men and their positions. As they moved forward, Gandalf spoke, “Théoden King, I come seeking councel.”

“You are not wanted here, Gandalf Greyhame,” Grima called from the dais, “A thief you are, and a foolish old man. You are nothing but trouble, bringing ill news that benefits no one but yourself.”

Legolas felt Gandalf release his arm and square his shoulders as he walked closer to the throne, “The wise speak only what they know, Gríma son of Gálmód. A witless worm you have become. Therefore, be silent and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth.”*As the wizard finished speaking, Gandalf flung from his shoulders the dirty grey cloak he wore, revealing brilliant white robes that seemed to illuminate the darkened hall. He brought his staff forward and the tip glowed with the same white light.

Gríma moved behind the throne in which Théoden sat. He called out to his men scattered around the hall, “His staff, he still has his staff! Seize them!”

Gríma’s men rushed towards the strangers, and Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas sprang into action. Without weapons, they had only their brawn to fight with. Aragorn took a couple men coming from the right side of the room. Gimli took the ones from the left. Legolas was faced with a very large man who came out from the shadows by the dais, but he watched Gríma from the corner of his eye. As he fought, his opponent ripped the cloak and it slipped from his shoulders, revealing his true identity. Gríma’s eyes widened with shock, but quickly narrowed with anger when he saw Legolas.

“It’s him! It’s the elf who escaped the cells! Kill him! Kill him now!” Gríma commanded of the man who fought against Legolas.

At that point, Gríma’s burly henchman pulled a small knife from his boot and lunged towards Legolas. The elf jumped out of the way of the man’s long reach, managing to grab his wrist and twist it. The man resisted, but Legolas was stronger and the wrist made a popping sound as the bone broke painfully. He dropped to the floor grasping his arm. The knife lay a few feet away from him, and Legolas eyed it. Then his sight switched back to Gríma, still hiding behind the King’s throne.

It was the only weapon within reach. His bow and long knives lay outside on the veranda. Aragorn and Gimli were busy subduing the last of the guards. Gamling and his two men were keeping watch over the others that had been knocked unconscious, and Gandalf was advancing on Théoden, his staff glowing as he chanted some spell. No one was paying any attention to Gríma except Legolas.

“You’re mine,” he said menacingly as he reached for the knife. While bending down, Gríma made to escape, but the only way was to run past Legolas and out the front doors. The elf was quicker, though, and captured Gríma, pushing him up against one of the wood column’s that supported the roof of the hall. Legolas’ forearm came up and crushed Gríma’s neck, pinning him to the pillar. His other hand held the knife just below Gríma’s ribs at an upward angle. The tip had broken through the material of Gríma’s shirt and threatened to do the same to his skin.

“Too long have I dreamed of this moment, to come face to face with the man responsible for everything that has gone wrong,” Legolas said through his clenched teeth. “How easy it would be to kill you right now, to gut you like the pig that you are.”

“You cannot kill me,” Gríma retorted. “I may not be respected by the people, but I am still a man of Rohan, chief advisor to the King. I’ve done nothing that would permit you to use violence against me.”

“Nothing outright,” Legolas uttered with anger. “For years, ever since you came back to Rohan, you have been trying to break me, to see me cast out. You use others to do your deeds, and then sit here as if you care about Rohan and its King. But I know, Gríma, for I have seen it with my own eyes. You sided with Saruman long ago, to weaken this country, destroy its King and rule from the throne. Was that what he promised you, to use Théoden as a vessel for Saruman’s black magic, to turn brother against brother, and then sit in command of your own land?”

The point of the knife pushed deeper into Gríma’s side, making him groan uncomfortably. He refused to answer Legolas, but his eyes deceived him as they darted to the left, looking at someone pleadingly. Legolas pushed the knife further still, sure that the point had drawn blood. Then he glanced over his shoulder and saw that Eowyn had entered the hall. She was watching the scene unfolding between Gandalf and Théoden, or what only seemed to be Théoden. The threats and the words that came from the King’s mouth were not his own. Legolas had heard this voice before, when he had seen Gríma slip some kind of powder into Théoden’s cup. Now he heard clearly that is was Saruman speaking through the King, using his eyes to see into the heart of Edoras, and in turn allowing Gríma to rule from behind the throne.

Legolas looked again at Gríma, who was watching Eowyn with some twisted kind of longing. Legolas tightened his arm against the pale white neck, and Gríma gasped for breath. “Not just the throne then. And you think she would love you after your deception, after throwing her brother in the cells.” He paused and whispered into Gríma’s ear, “After sending Théodred out and forcing him to disobey his father’s commands which cost him his life, you think she would love you?”

“And what could you have given her?” Gríma answered, “I could make her my queen, give her the life she deserves. You would only have brought her misery. You don’t belong here. You … never … belonged here.”

The words came back to Legolas as though he’d just heard them, the soft voice full of tears and dread, the end of a love that might have been. His head ached as he was swept back in time to that day within these very walls. Lúta had said the same thing in the same tone, and the feeling of rejection filled his heart again. Rejection by his first real love, rejection by the Woodsmen, rejection by Grimbeorn and his people. No one wanted an elf with no home, no family.

“Yes, you remember well, don’t you,” Gríma whispered, working his mind power on the elf. “She knew before anyone else that you should not be here. Lothlórien, Rivendell, that is where you should have gone … to stay with your own kind, but not even they would have wanted a depraved wood elf. It was a favor done to this world when Mirkwood was wiped from the map. Uneducated savages, all of you, raping and pillaging, hoarding the riches of the world while seducing anything you could stick your cock into. I was doing you a favor by sending you to the gallows.”

Legolas could feel the veil of darkness clouding his mind, and the icy fingers of doubt squeezing his heart. He fought against it, concentrated on the ancient words Gandalf was now chanting. Saruman’s laugh echoed through the hall, and for one brief moment, Legolas thought that all was lost. Gandalf would surrender to Saruman’s counter spell as he tried to keep control over Théoden’s mind. Aragorn and Gimli would be overpowered by Gríma’s men. And he himself would kneel down to Gríma and beg for his life before the hanging noose.

But something happened that wiped all these disparaging thoughts aside, cruel visions that had conjured themselves within his mind and against his will. Magic, Legolas thought, all of this was only dark magic.

“Be gone!” Gandalf shouted, and his staff lit up the hall with blinding light. All was quiet for a moment until Legolas heard a desperate cry.

“Uncle!” Eowyn called as she ran to Théoden.

Legolas could not see her, but he heard her slippers padding across the floor. He still held Gríma within his grasp, afraid to let him go. No, he thought, let Eowyn be with her uncle without any interruption from this slimy worm, and let this man make one wrong move so he could kill him. But Gríma did not move anything but his eyes as he watched Eowyn comfort her uncle.

“Don’t you look at her. Don’t look at anyone but me, for I hope the vengeance you witness upon my face is the last thing you see,” Legolas warned.

Gríma gave a quick breath like a sadistic laugh, and then spat in the elf’s face. Quicker than the eye could follow, Legolas changed his hold on Gríma, dropping his arm from the man’s neck and replacing it with the knife, which now threatened to slice from ear to ear.

“Now you die, you evil son of a—”

“Legolas!” said a booming voice unmistakably belonging to Gandalf.

Legolas did not move a muscle, and stayed focused on Gríma. To be this close to ending his miserable life—

“Legolas!” Gandalf called again, his tone still strict, but more compassionate, “It is not his time.”

“It was not Théodred’s time either, but who was there to save him? Not me nor Eomer, and it was all because of this man,” Legolas countered. “Why should this filth’s life be spared while a good man has gone too soon to his grave?”

“Legolas, please don’t,” Eowyn pleaded softly where she stood behind him. He hadn’t heard her approach.

“You of all people should want to see him gone. He had plans of wickedness against you, to force you into something you did not desire,” Legolas responded.

“You have been touched the deepest by his deception, but if you kill him, you will be no better than he or Saruman. Enough tragedy has occurred because of Gríma. Death would be too swift a punishment. Let him live, and he will be haunted by these heinous decisions,” Eowyn said trying to convince Legolas.

“He was once a man of Rohan,” Gandalf interjected, “A loyal subject of the King and to his son, but he will never again be in Théoden’s good graces. Let him face the reality of deceiving the very person he once loved.”

Legolas did not answer, nor did he release Gríma. He was fighting with himself whether to let this scum live or end his life right now. The elf’s hand began to quiver, and a spot of blood pooled beneath Gríma’s chin. “What does it matter if I kill him or not. My own life is forfeit. I have been charged with an unspeakable act and sentenced to death, but I’ll die peacefully knowing I took Wormtongue with me.”

“Those charges have been annulled,” Eowyn said, “Róta has confessed.”

“What? How?” Legolas said confused. He found it hard to believe that Róta found any goodness within her black heart.

“It was Gellír, the boy, the messenger I sent to Eomer,” Eowyn said.

“Gellír, he is alright?” Legolas had always wondered what happened to the little thief, especially when Eomer said he’d not seen the boy or Eowyn’s message.

“He is fine. He’s here within the city. When Gellír heard about the charges against you, he swore he knew you could never do such a thing. He took it upon himself to spy on Róta, for she remained in the city after your imprisonment and escape. Gellír heard her admit the truth about that evening, as she spoke to an acquaintance. She also mentioned being hired for her talents by you, Gríma.”

“I deny any involvement with the blacksmith,” Gríma croaked. “It is her word against Gellír’s, and he is a known thief. What good will any of that do?”

Eowyn went on speaking to Legolas, “Gellír also snuck into her home, and found the package that contained traces of the sedative she used on you that night. He went to Gamling, knowing he was still loyal to the King and to me, told him what he heard and gave him the packet. Gamling questioned Róta rather brutally until she confessed. Unfortunately, Róta escaped before she could be put in a cell.”

Gríma smiled wickedly at the news of their misfortune, but Legolas adjusted the blade of the knife against the man’s throat and the smile disappeared.

“The King is coming around,” Gamling called from the dais, where he and his men watched over Théoden. Gandalf had managed to break Saruman’s spell, but the King was slow to recover after such a long absence of mind and body.

Eowyn looked towards Théoden, needing to go to him, wanting her face to be the first thing her uncle saw when he awoke fully from the spell. He hadn’t known about any of this, not Gríma’s deception or Legolas’ charges, not Eomer’s jailing and not the death of his only son. The day Théodred’s body arrived was the darkest day of Eowyn’s life since losing her parents. Today, she would have to relive that day as Théoden learned of Théodred’s death and grieved for the first time. But for the moment, Legolas was her main concern.

“Please, Legolas, you must let Gríma go. He will pay for what he has done, but you cannot be the one to deal the punishment. We must follow our laws, and if you kill him, those laws will be put to use against you. Your name has been cleared through Gamling, and when my uncle learns of Gríma’s betrayal you will be free of all charges. You are an innocent man, Legolas. It is over,” Eowyn pleaded.

Legolas pierced Gríma with his steely blue gaze as he reluctantly lowered the knife from the man’s neck. Gríma would not move just yet, knowing how unpredictable wood elves could be. When Legolas took a step away, Gríma’s shoulder relaxed and he blew out a relieved breath. Too soon he thought he was safe, and the elf went for his throat again, this time grabbing the slim pasty white neck with his hand and squeezing, “You owe the lady a life, for she has just saved yours. I would have risked the gallows to see your blood spill at my feet. But she was wrong about one thing. It is not over, Wormtongue.” Legolas released Gríma so suddenly, that the man fell forward.

Legolas turned his back to Grima and faced Eowyn. She wrapped her arms around him, glad to see him, glad that he had not done anything to damage his reputation any further, “I have been so worried for you,” she whispered.

“It will be alright now. Come, let’s go to Théoden. He will need your strength now,” Legolas answered as he released her embrace and led her to the dais.

“Lady Eowyn?” Gríma called. She stopped, but would not turn to face him, and waited for him to speak. “I … Thank you.”

“I asked him to let you live … for now, but if I were you, I’d never stop looking over my shoulder,” she said, and then she went to see Théoden.

The King slowly came to, his eyes clearing from the fog that blinded him, his ears hearing the voice of his beloved niece calling to him. “Eowyn,” he whispered as her smiling face showed signs of relief and tears of joy.

“Uncle,” she answered and kissed his forehead.

“What has happened to me? I feel as though I have been locked away from my own life.”

Gandalf stepped forward, bowed and stood at the base of the dais, “Théoden King, long you have been asleep, but that is over now, and when you have recovered your strength, I ask to hold counsel. I apologize for my hastiness, but I’m afraid time is of the essence.”

Théoden nodded, though he was unsure and confused by everything. He looked around the hall, “Why is it so dark, and why isn’t the hearth lit?” His eyes scanned the faces, seeing those he recognized and some he did not. Then he noticed those who were missing from his company. “Where is Eomer and where is my son?”

“Eomer is here within the city,” she started, not quite ready to tell him that he was locked beneath Meduseld within the cells. She paused and looked to Legolas, finding the strength she needed to go on. She knelt next to Théoden’s throne, and Legolas took the opposite side. Then she took a deep breath, and started the long and devastating story of the unfortunate fate of Théodred.

While everyone’s attention was diverted, Gimli caught movement out of the corner of his eye, “Gríma escapes!” he warned.

Across the hall, Gríma was slinking towards the main doors. Gamling called to his men to stop him, but when they started towards him, Wormtongue pulled the infamous dagger from beneath his robe. Legolas saw the weapon, jumped down from the dais, and started down the hall to help subdue the crooked man. The main door opened and the blinding sun made it difficult to see Gríma. A small form emerged through the door, a child.

“Legolas, you’re back!” Gellír shouted.

“Gellír, get away from—” Legolas warned, but it was too late, for Gríma grabbed the boy and held the dagger to his neck.

Everyone stopped where they stood, except for Legolas, who slowly advanced down the hall, “Let him go Gríma!” he commanded.

“Do not come any closer if you value the boy’s life,” Gríma instructed.

“It’s too late for you, Worm,” Gamling said, “The blacksmith confessed your involvement. We know who you side with.”

Gríma laughed maniacally, “You know nothing. You will all be ruined, and Rohan will be destroyed, but I will not be here when that happens.”

Legolas could feel his fury building rapidly, “I should have killed you a moment ago, but nothing will stop me now.”

Gellír let out a whimper as the edge of the blade pushed against his neck. Then Gríma smiled, showing his yellowed teeth, “I believe this will stop you, or do you wish for the boy’s blood to be on your hands.” As he spoke, he hadn’t noticed Gellír turning in his grip. The boy suddenly kicked Gríma in the shin, making the man cry out in pain. The hand with the dagger fell away from the boy’s neck, and Gellír stomped on Gríma’s foot. The brave child then escaped from Gríma’s grip and ran to one of Gamling’s men.

Seeing that Gríma no longer held the boy for protection against the others, Legolas strode down the aisle, mind set upon capturing the advisor. Then, Gandalf called out in a loud booming voice across the hall, “Let him go, Legolas. Let him run to his master.”

Gríma spun in a whirlwind of black robes and flew from the hall. Gandalf reined in everyone’s attention, “Gríma will not bring harm to anyone here ever again. He will leave the Riddermark, and his fate will be sealed. This was his choice and now he must suffer the consequences.”

Gellír ran to Legolas and threw his arms around the elf’s waist. He was crying, frightened by everything that had happened. Legolas held the boy to him, rubbing the thin back to comfort him. “He’s gone, child. Gríma will never harm you again.”

Through his sobs, Gellír spoke, “I thought you were gone too. I thought I hadn’t done enough or that Gríma had found you and killed you.”

Legolas got down on one knee and took the boy’s face in his palm, wiping away tears with his thumb, “It is because of you that I am free. What you did was dangerous, but the bravest gesture I’ve ever known anyone to make on my behalf. You were the one who exposed the blacksmith, and in turn, Gríma. You should be proud, Gellír, and I thank you from my soul.”

From the hallway at the back of the hall, behind the dais, Eomer emerged along with his men who had been held below in the cells. Legolas watched in slow motion as his friend ran to his sister and they embraced. Théoden, still in shock at all that had happened, sat on his throne, shoulders hunched forward and face buried in his hands as he grieved for the loss of his son. That was all the King could manage for the moment. Eomer and Eowyn went to their uncle and knelt at his side. The room came to a quiet halt as every person bowed their head and grieved with their King. The prince was gone, his body lying honorably in state. As urgent as things were, Rohan must be given time to lament and bury their dead.

Aragorn and Gimli had joined Legolas at the back of the hall. This moment was for the people of Rohan, not for these strangers, though they shared in their sorrow. Legolas stood, the boy still clinging to his side, and watched the King and his family from a distance. In that moment, he realized that the time had come. Théoden was free. Eomer and Eowyn were with him now. Legolas’ place was no longer at their side. He would have to leave Rohan soon, leave behind his friends and his adopted family. There was a change in the air. Something called to him from a distant land, a place he barely remembered, but one he knew was the only such place he could truly call home. It was time to find a way to reclaim Mirkwood.


	30. Preparing A City

“We were to marry,” said Rawynn, Prince Théodred’s betrothed, “When he returned, we were going to announce it to everyone.” She sat next to Eowyn on the settee within Meduseld. A fire warmed the hall as well as its inhabitants. Legolas and Eomer stood to the side, listening to Rawynn tell Eowyn about all the plans she had made with Théodred. The woman was grief stricken for her love. So many were. So many men had given their lives. Children were left fatherless, women were made widows, and an only son passed before his father.

Earlier this day, the city of Edoras had made their way to the barrows for Prince Théodred’s funeral. It had been a tough day for everyone, especially King Théoden. Eowyn had sung the final song. Eomer had been a pallbearer, and Théoden knelt at the foot of his son’s tomb until the sun had set. Gandalf had been with him. Legolas had seen the wizard stand unmoving, like a guard watching over his charge. Perhaps he had lent the King strength on this, the longest day, but no amount of magic would ease the sorrow in any heart in Rohan.

Night settled on the city, and it was unusually quiet. The residents stayed in their homes, cocooned in warmth. The taverns and other places of nightly business were dark. Everyone took to the solemnness that the day had brought, found relief from their woes within the dark, and hoped that the light of morning would bring new promise.

Eowyn did her best to comfort Rawynn until the night had grown late. Eomer offered to see her home and she agreed. Legolas stayed behind with Eowyn. She had been so busy performing her duties, he wondered if she had had the time to properly grieve her cousin. They sat on the couch staring into the fire, as they had on so many different occasions.

“I am going with the men,” she stated, surprising Legolas. He thought she would use the time to shed the tears she’d held back in order for others to express their sadness.

“What are you speaking of?” he asked.

“War, if the Rohirrim ride to war, I will go with them.”

“Eowyn, it has been a long day, and I’m sure you are tired. Tomorrow with bring—”

“No, Legolas, tomorrow will bring nothing but more sorrow. I am sick of it, I say, and I cannot … will not sit by and watch my loved ones disappear. I’ve lost my parents, my cousin, friends . . . How many more will fall? Saruman sets out to destroy Rohan, and I will do everything within my power to keep that from happening.”

“And do you think Théoden will let you ride out with the troops? Do you think Eomer would let you? You are a shield maiden, sworn to protect the city when the men are off to battle. Your duty lies within Edoras.”

“My duty lies with my king,” she retaliated.

“Théoden is recovering. You needn’t care for him anymore. Now you must care for your people. They will be looking to you for guidance,” Legolas acknowledged.

“You don’t understand. Théoden should not have to ride into battle. I know he is a strong ruler, and in his youth he was a valiant warrior, but he has aged. Eomer and Théodred were to be his brawn while my uncle ruled from his throne. I’m worried that Théoden will ride out in place of his son, and if he does, I am going too … to watch over him and protect him.”

Legolas shook his head. Eowyn was full of such stubbornness sometimes, “Théoden would never let you do this, and you know it.”

“Have you forgotten about Dernhelm?” she said.

“You mean to disguise yourself as a soldier? That is absurd and it is trickery, and … and why are you telling me any of this when it should be my duty to notify Théoden of your plans?” Legolas crossed his arms and stared down his nose at her.

“Because you, of all people, know that I am capable of this. You trained me, Legolas. You taught me how to become a better swordswoman. And let’s not forget who created and carried out the plan to save you from the cells.” She stopped and moved closer to him until their legs brushed against each other, “And because I trust you.”

Her words struck the center of his heart. She trusted him, trusted that he would support her, trusted that would be there for her people and her family. In return, he felt compelled to tell her his secret. Legolas lowered his arms to his lap and faced the fire again, “I have to leave soon.”

“Leave? What are you talking about? You can’t leave now,” Eowyn said adamantly.

Legolas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and gave a sigh, “I don’t even know where to begin. I’m still not sure I believe it myself, and ever since I found out, I have put it in the back of my mind.” He turned his head to the side, glancing at Eowyn over his shoulder. “I may not be who you think I am.”

Eowyn put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly, “I don’t understand.”

“When I left Edoras, I went to Fangorn to finish healing, and to get my mind in order,” he began. “What happened to me here left a tear in my soul. Róta … did things that I am not sure were all her doing. Some of what happened was my own choice, and … well … I should have controlled my reactions better.”

“I’m so sorry you were hurt, but you cannot take all of the blame,” Eowyn comforted.

Legolas went on, “Well, it is over now, but … something happened while I was there. I met an elf, an elleth actually. She was a border guard for the Galadhrim, injured while on duty. I helped her, but I had to leave before she had recovered. When I went back, she was gone, but she left me a message.”

Eowyn waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be lost in thought, “What did it say?”

“She wrote my name, my given name, Laiqalassë, and told me to come to Lothlórien. No one knows me by that name but for those who have left this world.”

“What does this mean?” Eowyn asked curiously.

“I didn’t know at first, but it was Gandalf who told me. You see, he knew that name also, for that is the name of Thranduil’s son.” Legolas sat up and turned to Eowyn, “He said that my father was King Thranduil, and that I am the heir to the throne of Mirkwood.”

Eowyn was speechless, her mouth hanging open unbecomingly. Legolas smiled and laughed, “That was my exact reaction. Difficult to believe, isn’t it?”

“So, you are a Prince? Prince Legolas,” she managed to finally say.

Legolas shrugged his shoulders, “If Gandalf is correct. His mind was a little clouded, he tells me, when he came back to this world as Gandalf the White. Still, he said he knew my parents, said I look like my mother. I just don’t know what to believe, and I chose not to think about it much until I knew you, Eomer and Théoden were safe.”

“And you think this elleth might be the key to the mystery?” Eowyn asked.

“I’m not sure how she fits in to all of this, but one thing is for certain. She recognized me, though I do not know how. I was only an elfling when Mirkwood was destroyed,” he answered. “Maybe she knew my parents too, like Mithrandir.” Legolas leaned against the back of the couch, “I don’t know, Eowyn, but I think the answer lies within Lothlórien.”

Eowyn stood from the couch and paced past the fire. She stopped at the far end of the hearth, her back turned to Legolas, her arms wrapped around her to ward off the chill. He sighed and hung his head, knowing she did not want him to leave, not now on the brink of war. He slowly rose from the settee and went to her, putting his arm around her shoulders, “I haven’t made my mind yet, and besides, Théoden has not issued any orders as to what Rohan will do next.”

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered.

“I’m not too keen on the idea myself,” he said. “Let’s just wait and see what your uncle decides.” He walked around, stopping before her, tilted her head up to meet his eyes and smiled, “Whatever happens, I will not abandon you or Eomer or Théoden, for you did not abandon me when I needed you most.”

She smiled and nodded, though she did not seem convinced by his words.

“Come on, it’s late. I’ll walk you to your room.” Legolas held his arm out and she tucked her chilled fingers into the crook of his arm.

They stopped just outside of her private quarters, and Legolas released her. Eowyn turned the knob, but hesitated and looked back at him, “I have known you since I was a young girl, and you never mentioned having another name. Why did you tell me about all of this?”

Legolas took her hand and raised it to his lips, laying a gentlemanly kiss across her fingers. He smiled and looked at her through his lashes, “Because I trust you too.”

“Thank you, Legolas,” she said, and she slipped into her room.

* * *

The stars were not as bright as they usually were. A thin veil of clouds dulled their presence. Only a slight breezed blew across the veranda where Legolas stood, gazing across the open plains of the Riddermark. He sensed a presence behind him, but there was no need to turn around. He knew who it was.

“I think we are the only ones who stir in this entire city,” Gandalf stated. “The rest have gone to their slumber.”

“Yet it is a restless sleep. The people are worried about their future,” Legolas remarked.

“And they would be right to feel this way. Tomorrow will decide the fates of them all.”

“And what will you tell King Théoden?” Legolas asked.

“I will not tell him anything, but I will answer his concerns and hope to persuade him into making the right decision.”

“Is that not the same thing, Mithrandir?”

Instead of answering, Gandalf brought his smoking pipe to his mouth and puffed, the white smoke escaping from the corners of his mouth.

Legolas went on, “Théoden will be difficult to persuade, especially after all that has happened. He will have little trust in those who hold any kind of magic. Gríma saw to that.” He shifted his feet and turned to Gandalf, who stood at his side. He looked into the ancient face, wrinkled and worn, yet his eyes were unrestrained and full of enthusiasm. Gandalf was a man always thinking well into the future, making multiple plans so that there was always a different path to choose. “What would you have Théoden do?”

“Well,” Gandalf began as he lowered his pipe, “I would see him stay here in Edoras and protect his city and its people. But I have seen his strategy in the past. Théoden will choose to go to Helm’s Deep.”

“It is the stronghold of Rohan, a great fortress. Why do you find this disagreeable?” Legolas asked.

“For one, he will empty the city, and I am afraid there is not enough time to move all his people. They will be vulnerable once they leave Edoras, slow moving too, with all of the sick and elderly. He does not have enough soldiers to see them safely to the Deep. A thousand men he still has riding across the plains, but where they are is anyone’s guess.” Gandalf stopped and puffed on his pipe again, this time withdrawing a great amount of smoke that he did not release right away. When he did, he made short, quick puffs. Legolas watched as the smoke hung in the air, defying the breeze, and took form in the shape of the Hornburg. “My other concern is the design of Helm’s Deep. Yes, it is a mighty stronghold built into the mountain, but should Rohan’s defenses not hold, it will become a trap with no way of escape. It is better to fight out in the open of Edoras in my opinion. Inevitably, it is Théoden’s decision. All I can really do is give my advice, and then adjust my plans to meet his needs.” At the finish of his words, the smoke dissipated.

“Did you ever advise Thranduil?” Legolas asked. He found it difficult to refer to the elven king as his father. It still seemed unreal to him.

“I did once or twice. Thranduil was very strong minded. Ultimately, he only listened to his instincts. Such was the primitive practices of the wood elves.”

“You speak as though they were an insufficient race,” Legolas inquired.

“Not at all, Legolas. Thranduil and his armies were far from lacking. Ruthless warriors they were. They had to be living as they did, surrounded by fell creatures with danger around every corner. They isolated themselves in order to survive, but by doing so, they sacrificed advancement as a people.”

“From what I know, they chose to live a simple life. They had no need for great cities or structures as the elves of Rivendell. And they loved their land and being a part of Middle-earth, unlike the Noldor.” Legolas’ voice rose as he spoke, defending his lost people. After all, he was one of them and the only one left to stand up to those who may question their choice for civilization.

Gandalf chuckled quietly, though not out of disrespect. He observed Legolas with a stern eye, “You are so much like your mother that I find myself missing her as I did the day I learned that she passed from this world.” He paused and shook his head, “Such a shame, and Thranduil was brokenhearted. If not for you, I think he might have faded. He was so devoted to her. Love at first sight, they had said. Nothing would keep them apart. But it was not a blessed union, not at first. Thranduil was still a prince when he met Almárëa.

He had gone with his father to Lothlórien to learn how to negotiate with the Noldor. Needless to say, the only thing his attention focused on was her. He was instantly smitten, and she with him, though she hid it well. Thranduil visited Lothlórien regularly after that, and he became better acquainted with Almárëa, but when her family caught wind of the growing relationship, they forbade her to see him. After many attempts to ask permission, and each one met with denial, Thranduil snuck Almárëa out of Lothlórien and brought her to the Great Greenwood. They married soon after, and her family no longer had any say in the matter.”

Legolas was amazed by the story. He’d had no idea that their relationship had started out as a turbulent one. He hadn’t known much about them at all, except that they were very much in love. “Is that what caused the rift between the two realms?” Legolas asked.

“Well no, there had always been a certain amount of disagreement between the two, but this did not help matters. I would say it more or less caused a rift between Thranduil and Lórien, especially after he became king. But none of this changed how your parents felt about each other, and Thranduil went on to build a strong city and a devoted people who respected their King and loved their Queen.” Gandalf had finished with his pipe, tapped the ashes out into the wind, and tucked it inside his robe.

“This is all fine and well, Gandalf, but I do not see why I need to go to Lothlórien. So you say I am Thranduil’s son. Why should I think they will accept me any more than my father? I saw the elleth’s reaction when she realized who I was. Lothlórien thought I had perished along with my father and all of my people. Outside of being surprised that I lived, I don’t see how any of this makes a difference.”

“The differences between your father’s people and your mother’s people have been long standing. And then unto the world came the King’s son, born of both realms. You were to be the tether that linked the two great forests together. You still are that key, Legolas.” Gandalf faced the elf, clasping his shoulder, “I know how you long to go home, and I believe it can be done, for as long as one still survives, Mirkwood can be restored. You are but one, though, against a vast forest filled with beasts and creatures that most have only seen in their nightmares. You cannot do this alone.”

“I am not alone, Gandalf. Rohan will stand behind me. Eomer promised me long ago that he would aid me when the time came.”

The wizard’s eyes sparkled in the dull light of a crescent moon, “He may have been of only a little help. This is not just about taking back what is rightfully yours. It is about reconciling. You must go to Lothlórien. There will be those who will follow you, who will believe in your cause. That is where the healing will begin, and that is where you will find your army. It will begin with one.” Gandalf chuckled and went on, “It already has begun … with the elleth and the message in the sand. You will find more like her.”

Legolas thought about all that Gandalf had said. It was a lot to consider. Finding out that he was the son of a king was mindboggling enough. Now he was told that he was responsible for rebuilding Mirkwood and for mending the old wounds that existed between Lothlórien and his native home. Still, there was one matter of concern that seemed to overshadow all of this. “What about Rohan? What about Saruman and Gríma, and their army of orcs? Are you saying I should go to Lothlórien and abandon those who might need my help?”

“That, my dear boy, is solely your decision.”

* * *

“I will not leave my people in Edoras, Gandalf,” argued Théoden, “They will stand a better chance at Helm’s Deep.”

“They will be trapped with no way of escape if the enemy breaks through,” Gandalf retaliated.

“Then we will not let that happen,” Théoden said as he stood from his throne and paced the floor in front of the dais.

Legolas and Eomer were standing to the side of the hall, listening to both men argue over what might be the better decision, but Théoden was king and his word was final. Gandalf looked defeated after many attempts to make Théoden see his point.

“Grimbold, send word to every person in the city. They should take only what is necessary. Gather as many provisions as we can. We leave for Helm’s Deep in three days,” Théoden ordered. “Eomer … Legolas, see to it that all the armories are emptied. We will need every weapon and spare piece of armor we have.”

Eomer, Grimbold and Legolas left right away to fulfill their orders. They stopped out on the veranda, Eomer giving Grimbold a few more instructions that he knew would help things move along a little smoother. Gandalf, Aragorn and Gimli stayed inside a while longer. Finally, Gandalf graciously took his leave of the king, but once outside of Meduseld, he mumbled and complained about the stubbornness of the Rohirric King. Eomer caught a few of the wizard’s words, and stopped him.

“Théoden is only thinking of his people. They are always his first priority. If he says Helm’s Deep is our best chance of defense, then who are you to argue with him?” said Eomer defending his uncle.

Gandalf glared at the young Marshal, and Legolas was sure there would be more arguing, but the wizard’s face softened a bit, “Théoden is a good man. I will not question his decision anymore. Besides, I always have another plan. Tell me, Eomer, while you were out on patrol, did you happen to receive word of Erkenbrand’s whereabouts?” Gandalf did not wait for an answer before he started off in the direction of the royal stables. The others followed the wizard’s fast tread, Eomer trailing his white robes.

“Last I heard, he rode out from the Fords of Isen with around a thousand of our men, taking my place when I came to Edoras. I know not where he rides now, but I am sure it is to the north,” Eomer answered.

Aragorn, as though he already knew what Gandalf was thinking, interrupted, “I can ride out and find them, bring them back here.”

Gandalf shook his head, “No, I need you here to see that these people make it safely to the Hornburg. No doubt the roads will be watched.”

“Gríma will know Théoden’s strategy. If he has fled to Isengard, I’m sure he will tell Saruman of our plans,” Legolas informed.

By now, they had arrived at the stables. Gandalf went inside and straight to the stall that housed Shadowfax, but he stopped as he remembered something. He turned to the others and pulled a black leather bound book from his robes, “Speaking of Gríma, do either of you recognize this?” he said addressing Eomer and Legolas. Before they could answer, another spoke from a nearby stall.

“I do,” Eowyn said as she came from the stall of her horse, Windfola, “It belongs to Gríma. I have seen it in his rooms. How did you come by it?”

Gandalf stepped between the other members and approached the shield maiden, “Someone found it just outside of the gates of the city. I think Gríma might have carelessly dropped it as he made his hasty flight. The guard who brought it to me thought it to be a book of magic.”

“What would give him that idea?” Gimli asked, as he pushed his way in front of Legolas.

“There are ancient runes written inside, so old in fact that I almost did not recognize them, but they are of the black speech,” Gandalf answered as he flipped through the pages, opening it to the place he spoke of.

Legolas looked inside the book, and observed the familiar symbols, “I have seen this elsewhere, upon a dagger in which Gríma had made for him. He lied and said that Théoden ordered it forged for his collection, but the King has no such thing.”

Gimli nodded in confirmation, “I saw him wave that around at the Rohir Captain right before he ran off. It had an odd blade as I’ve never seen before, the edges wavy instead of straight.”

Gandalf furrowed his brow as his finger moved over the runes in the book, “Now it makes sense.”

“What does?” Eowyn asked. She glanced at Eomer and Legolas, for they all new the story behind the making of the blade and the blacksmith, Róta, who made it.

“It is a black spell, and will bring power to the one who completes it using the dagger,” Gandalf went on, “It is a list, if you will, and each task must be completed in order for it to work properly.” He looked up from the book, his eyes falling upon Eomer. “If Gríma had followed through with this, he could have easily taken control of Rohan.”

“How do we know he has not already started the spell,” Eomer asked worriedly.

“That would depend upon the Lady Eowyn,” Gandalf said turning to the shield maiden. “The first thing it says is . . . ‘the first blood of a virgin’.”

“You mean, he meant to kill me?” asked Eowyn, her innocence apparent to the rest.

Eomer’s eyes blazed with anger as he knew the meaning. He bent down to whisper in Eowyn’s ear, “There are other ways a virgin bleeds besides from a stab wound, and she will only bleed this way once.”

Eowyn’s mouth dropped open, and she could not meet the eyes of the others in the stable, but she answered, “No, he has definitely not begun the spell.”

“What are the other things,” Legolas asked, trying to save Eowyn her modesty.

Gandalf looked at the book again, “Some are nothing more than rare plants mixed with blood from a lamb, and a few other minor details, but the last is to kill the one whose power and position the conjuror wishes to overtake. Upon completion, the wielder of the dagger’s influence will be tenfold, making him more powerful than any of his forerunners.”

“If Gríma had all of this power within his reach, why did he not use it?” Gimli asked.

“Because he could not kill my uncle until Saruman was through with him,” Eomer answered. “The White Wizard promised Gríma Eowyn’s hand in marriage once his task of deception was complete. He would have no more use of the King at that point, leaving Gríma to dispose of him as he saw fit.”

Legolas was seething, but hid his emotions. To think of the times Wormtongue had been in his grasp. Just a quick twist of the neck, and the man would have been relieved of his corrupted life. “Why did you tell me to let him go, Gandalf? Now he has gone back to Isengard where he will undoubtedly come up with a new plan for sorcery.”

“The stars will align another way for him, and he will get what is coming to his black heart. There will be no time for him to make another attempt. Saruman concentrates on war, and he will not let Gríma out of his site again.” Gandalf went on to say something privately to Aragorn. The man nodded and wished the wizard safety and swiftness in elvish. Legolas was taken aback, not having known that he spoke the same language.

Gandalf entered the stall and mounted Shadowfax. Then, horse and rider burst from the stables with all haste in a flash of white. The others watched in awe as the wizard left, set on his mission. The rest would be up to them.

Eowyn went back to tending to her horse and put Windfola back in the security of the stall. Aragorn helped her when the horse seemed defiant. Legolas watched the exchange, and saw a look upon her face that he’d not seen since she asked him to be her first kiss. She was smitten with this Ranger of the North.

“I did not know you spoke the language of the elves,” she said, her cheeks flushing a becoming shade of pink.

“I lived in Rivendell for a time, after my mother died. Lord Elrond took me in and taught me much,” Aragorn answered.

“You were raised in Rivendell?” Legolas asked curiously.

“And you find this odd?” Aragorn smiled, “You, an elf raised in Rohan?”

“Sounds like the two of you were mixed at birth,” Gimli chortled.

Aragorn laughed at Gimli’s sense of humor, then regarded Legolas again, “Have you ever been to Rivendell?”

“No, I have not been to any elven realm except for the place of my birth, but soon I might—” Legolas stopped himself before he said too much. This was a decision he still had to come to a conclusion about.

Aragorn ignored his slip and clasped the elf’s shoulder, “Perhaps we shall journey there together one day.”

“Perhaps,” Legolas grinned, but he felt a cold stare from behind him. He looked over his shoulder and found Gimli watching him with one narrowed eye peeking from beneath a bushy brow.

Eomer, seeing that time was running short, took charge and addressed Aragorn and Gimli first, “We could use your help with the heavy lifting in the food pantries. Legolas and I shall head to the armories. Eowyn, gather the other shield maidens and begin organizing the women and children. They should take only what they need, nothing more. With Béma’s blessing, the city will still be here when we return.”

Eowyn nodded, and glanced shyly at Aragorn before leaving the stables. The others followed with Aragorn and Gimli going off towards the food stores, while Eomer and Legolas went the opposite direction. The friends discussed their concerns about Gríma and the black spell, Rohan’s safety and Eowyn’s sudden interest in Aragorn.

As they talked, Legolas mentally calculated the time it would take from now until Saruman’s armies were knocking on the doors of the Keep. He gave some thought to his newfound nobility, and to Gandalf’s advice to seek answers in Lothlórien. He was unsure whether Gandalf would find Erkenbrand in time for the company to arrive at Helm’s Deep before war broke out. His motives for going to Lothlórien took new shape. Could he have enough influence to convince Lothlórien to send their own troops to the Hornburg? Rohan’s numbers were very low at the moment. Their armies were split after Théodred’s death. He wasn’t sure why he felt so strongly, but he thought that Calariel might be able to help him gather enough elves to help in the war. She was a soldier, after all. She would know who to speak to, who would listen, and who would be willing to help. Legolas would have to give it more thought, but he would have to make a decision very soon. Time was against him, and there was not a moment to spare.


	31. The Stubbornness of Dwarves

Legolas opened yet another wooden chest and found so few weapons. The armories had been cleaned, and he suspected Gríma had something to do with it. “What little is left is rusted and dull. How are we supposed to arm the men with such useless weapons as these? You heard Gandalf, the roads will be watched. I have little faith in the idea that the caravan will not be assaulted as we journey to Helm’s Deep.”

Eomer threw the rusty sword he held back into the chest, “I have my company. They’ll spread out along the length of the caravan, and keep watch for anyone or anything. The men who volunteered did so to help protect their families.” He pointed to the pitiful hoard of weapons, “It may not be sufficient, but it is all we have. When we get to the Hornburg, we’ll have the blacksmiths fix these, and there will be more to choose from.”

Legolas knew how desperate their situation was. Without all of Rohan’s armies at the ready, they would have to look to the citizens for help. Eomer was a proud man, and he was proud of his countrymen. He would not deny them their assistance no matter if they could accurately fight or not, but would this be enough?

The choice that lay before him was becoming more urgent every minute … stay with Eomer and prepare for battle hoping that Gandalf would show with the rest of Rohan’s army, or go to Lothlórien and ask for help. Either choice was a risk.

He sat down on a wooden bench, picked up a broken spear from the ground and shook his head. He could feel Eomer watching him curiously, but his friend allowed him a moment. And then, following his heart … not for himself, but for the people who took him in, trusted him, believed him when others did not … he made his decision.

“We need help, Eomer,” he whispered.

“We have help. We have Aragorn and Gimli, and Gandalf will return,” said Eomer with hope.

“And what if he doesn’t return? What if he finds Erkenbrand too late or not at all? What then? Who will you recruit … old men … boys? It will not be enough.”

Eomer had thought of all these same scenarios, but he chose to ignore them and trust in the wizard’s return as well as help from Béma. Legolas had made them more of a reality than he had wished. It angered him that Legolas had the same concerns. “What do you propose I do then?” he asked in a raised tone. Realizing he had shouted, Eomer sighed, plopped down on the bench next to Legolas and shook his head, “I did not ask for any of this. I did not want this responsibility. Second Marshal of the Mark … they are all counting on me to lead this great army. I am overwhelmed at times, and I find myself becoming angry with my cousin for dying. It should have been him here seeing over the troops, not me.”

“But it is you, Eomer, and you are a great man … a great leader. You always have been. Your men have followed you even when it seemed you were going against Théoden’s orders. They put everything at risk because they trusted you, and they knew you would not lead them astray. Do you think Théodred had anything to do with that? No, he did not. It was you, Eomer son of Eomund, and your recruitment in the shadow of Théodred’s death was justly deserved.”

Eomer said nothing at first, but a shadow fell across his face, hiding his emotions. His voice, however, betrayed his feelings, “I … just miss him is all. He was always there for me to turn to. Since he’s been gone, I find that I second guess myself.”

“I miss him too, Eomer,” Legolas admitted. “He taught me so much about Rohirric life. He never judged me, but accepted me as he would a brother.”

They shared a silent moment to mourn the loss of their companion. Then Legolas sat up, straightening his back as he held his head high, “There is one other option, but I will have to leave Rohan and hope to return in time.”

Eomer bent his head to the side and regarded the elf, “Of what do you speak?”

“Lothlórien,” Legolas answered in a word.

“The Golden Woods of the sorceress queen? But you said you would never go to that place. You said your uncle had advised against ever doing such a thing,” Eomer argued.

“I have … learned some things about my father and mother. Lothlórien was her home at one time,” Legolas said carefully, not telling Eomer the entire truth about his noble birth. “I earned the trust of the elleth I met in Fangorn. If I can find her and convince her of the importance of my cause, perhaps she will persuade others. I could possibly bring an army of elves to Helm’s Deep and increase our numbers.”

“That is a risky plan,” Eomer noted.

“It is worth a try, though. What else is there to lose? Still, with or without Lórien’s help, I will come back.”

“Why, Legolas? Why would you go to Lothlórien now and not before? Why do you think you can trust them to help after all you have told me about their culture and their beliefs?” Eomer asked.

Legolas swore to himself that he would not tell another living soul the truth about his father, at least not until he was sure himself. He had told Eowyn, but he had become accustomed to sharing his secrets with her, and only her. Instead, Legolas stood from the bench, grasped Eomer’s shoulder and smiled, “Ask Eowyn about it. She knows.”

“But—” Eomer started.

“It will give the two of you something to discuss as you make the journey to the Hornburg.” Legolas jostled.

* * *

Gríma was gone, his accomplices seized and jailed. Still, Legolas was leery that there may be some who were overlooked that still spied about Edoras. Eomer assured him these were false concerns. He was probably right, but the elf decided not to take any risks. He waited until late into the night before he would leave Rohan. There was no reason to raise any questions about is departure, especially as Rohan was about to embark on its journey to Helm’s Deep.

He was at the stables, checking over Arod, and seeing that his horse was prepared. He would not use a saddle, preferring this way of riding since discovering it in Fangorn. Arod was happier to carry his charge this way also. Legolas’ other thought was that the elves he was visiting might not understand why he would choose to saddle his horse when it was plain that elves preferred not to. It was for this same reason that he would don his elvish attire and not his Rohirric armor, even though Eomer advised against it.

“Going somewhere?” Gimli grumbled as he entered the stable.

“It is no concern of yours, Master Dwarf,” Legolas answered dryly. Although they tolerated each other since coming to Rohan, Legolas and Gimli hadn’t exactly discovered any kind of friendship between them. And since learning of Legolas’ true identity, Gimli sometimes glared at the elf as though he had been personally responsible for the death of his relatives in Erebor.

“Wouldn’t want you to make yourself scarce, not at this desperate hour,” Gimli commented.

“I would not do such a thing,” Legolas retorted.

“That’s not what it looks like from where I am standing.” Gimli planted his feet into the hay strewn floor.

“I have matters to attend to, and there is nothing more you need to know.” Legolas continued affixing his bags to Arod’s back.

“Leaving,” Gimli accused, “just as your father did when he was needed most. I thought you cared for these people.”

“I do care, which is why I must go,” Legolas replied. Then he turned to the dwarf with ice in his blue eyes, “And you will not speak of my father with such disrespect. What’s done is done, but I had no part in his decisions, whatever those may have been.”

Gimli narrowed his eyes, regarding the elf for a long moment, “Do you not care what people will think when they learn you are gone? Aragorn has great respect for you. He believes you strengthen our cause.”

“And what about you?” Legolas asked, catching Gimli off guard.

“I have yet to decide whether your bow will make a difference. I was hoping to see your skills, but I think I’ll not count on it,” Gimli said. He shifted his weight from left to right, as if daring Legolas to break past him.

“You do not trust me,” Legolas stated, “Well, you would not be the first.”

“I may question your motives, Master Elf, but I know your people trust you. I would not like to see them disappointed. They have been through enough already.”

Legolas had heard of the stubbornness of dwarves, and Gimli was a fine example. Arguing would do no good. One could not bandy with a boulder, he thought lightly. There might be another way. He left Arod in his stall, and came up next to Gimli. He looked the dwarf over carefully, then cocked his head to the side, “Since you do not trust my word or my motives, perhaps you’ll come with me then, and see for yourself that I intend to do as I say.”

That was the last thing Gimli expected Legolas to say, and he stuttered behind his beard as he tried to come up with a response, “Why … I … well, I don’t know … I’m not—”

“You speak firmly, Gimli son of Gloin, but your actions leave something to be desired,” Legolas antagonized.

Gimli mumbled in his own language, words that Legolas was sure were insults. Seeing that he was being challenged, Gimli gave in and accepted the offer, “Fine then, I’ll go.” Gimli began to stomp towards Arod’s stall, but Legolas stopped him.

“Well, seeing that I will have company, perhaps I do not need to ‘slip away’ just yet. The night is young and my throat is suddenly parched. Care to join me for a mug before we go?” Legolas asked as he feigned a genuine smile.

Dwarves found it next to impossible to refuse an offer of ale, and Gimli was no exception, “I suppose there is no harm in that.”

“Come along then. I know of a tavern that will still be open,” Legolas said. He untied the smaller of the two packs fastened to Arod, and he and the dwarf walked to the mead hall.

The place was open, but nearly empty. Most of the patrons were probably home, busy packing up belongings and such. A pair of elderly men sat in a far corner, playing a game of cards. The tavern owner was going in and out of his office, disappearing behind the bar and coming up with a few bottles of aged liquor. He saw Legolas walk in and nodded, “The kegs are almost emptied, but I think I can scrounge up enough for you and your friend.

Gimli looked at Legolas in horror of being referred to as a friend, but decided against correcting the man and risk refusal of service. Legolas seemed to ignore the reference, smiled and said in a kind voice, “Thank you Holthain. We are sorry to intrude at this late hour and while you are busy with preparations.”

“Nonsense! Least I can do for a soldier,” Holthain replied as he retrieved two pewter mugs, tilted a small keg sitting behind the bar, and filled the cups. He handed one to each patron, and when Legolas reached into a small pouch that hung at his waist, the tavern owner waved a hand, “No, I’ll not charge ye for the dregs of my stock. Besides, you’ll help lighten my load.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” Gimli said with appreciation.

Legolas led the dwarf across the tavern to a table by one of the windows where he could keep sight of the sky and the moon. He still meant to leave while night was upon him, and he had no intension of losing track of time.

They spoke of insignificant things at first. Gimli told Legolas a bit more about the hobbits they left behind in Fangorn, and how he still worried for them surrounded by all those wretched trees.

Legolas explained Fangorn Forest, the order of the Ents, and how these hobbit friends were safer than any of them were at present.

They talked and drank, all part of Legolas’ plan, for he had no intension of bringing Gimli with him to Lothlórien. What he actually wanted was to see Gimli so drunk that he would eventually fall asleep. Then the elf would leave for Lórien as he had intended. Gimli’s head, as well as his pride might be sore come morning, but it was a small price to pay.

What he hadn’t expected was to actually find himself enjoying this time getting to know Gimli better. They shared a lot of the same opinions and thought processes. The dwarf was turning out to be quite companionable, and Legolas began to rethink his plan to leave Gimli behind. Still, this was a task that Legolas needed to complete on his own. He wasn’t sure what he would find in Lothlórien. His focus was on recruiting an army to march to Helm’s Deep, but there was also the fact that he was going to his mother’s begetting place, the same people who had qualms with Mirkwood and its king. Bringing along a dwarf into an already complicated situation would not help matters much.

He hadn’t realized they had been silent for so long, and Legolas was deep in his own thoughts when Gimli spoke, “You seem troubled. Do you not look forward to going to Lothlórien?”

“That is a small part of it. I really do hate to leave at this desperate hour, but if I can rouse some of the Galadhrim to aid Rohan, it will only better our chances of victory against Saruman’s army.”

“You should not fret. The Lord and Lady of Caras Galadhon are fair and wise. I know this because I have met them, and though some of their wardens did not care to see a dwarf within their city, Lady Galadriel was very welcoming.” Gimli spoke with kind remembrance. 

“I’m afraid I know only what I was told, and they were not so helpful when my fa— King Thranduil called upon them for aid,” Legolas said, correcting himself.

Gimli gave him a curious cock of the head, “Why do you not call him your father?”

“It seems odd to me, that’s all. He was in my life for such a short period, and during that time, I did not know him to be the king. He was my father, nothing more.” Legolas leaned down and opened up the small bag he brought with him. From it, he took out his book and placed it on the table before Gimli, “This has been with me ever since I can remember.”

Gimli reached out to take it, but Legolas pulled the book away, “It’s all I have of my people, and it never leaves my side.” He gave the dwarf a cold look, and Gimli brought his hand back in front of him. Legolas made his point and relaxed, “It was written by my kinsmen, an account of our history.” Legolas opened the book to the place where it spoke of the forest and its fall into darkness, “The elven king called upon his neighbors for aid, but none came, and the forest grew bleak and sinister. The fell creatures multiplied, chasing the elves north to their fortress beneath the hill.” He paused and looked straight into Gimli’s eyes, “He called upon Lothlórien, but they did not think it was as bad as it was. I intend to find out why they sat in their precious city of trees, ignoring the world outside, especially when one of their own lived within Mirkwood … my mother.”

The dwarf leaned back in his chair, settling his eyes on Legolas, “And now may you understand my questions about your father’s decision to let Erebor crumble.” Gimli’s comment caught Legolas by surprise.

The elf hung his head and stared into his empty mug, “I don’t know why, Gimli, and I wish I did, but then again I hope I never know. The elf I knew as my father would never turn away from anyone. And here you are telling me that is exactly what he did. It is because of this conflict that I find myself questioning whether King Thranduil was my father, and that Gandalf is somehow mistaken.”

Gimli shook his head, “Gandalf is never wrong.”

Legolas sighed and looked over to Holthain, signaling him to bring another round. The tavern owner already had two fresh mugs poured and brought them over. Legolas raised his cup, inviting Gimli to do the same.

“Here’s to finding answers,” Legolas toasted.

“Hear, hear,” Gimli answered.

They drank and talked, Legolas telling Gimli what he learned from Gandalf about his parents. Why he felt compelled to tell the dwarf something he hadn’t even told his best friend was beyond his understanding. But he felt a connection with Gimli, as if they had wrongly pegged each other upon their first meeting.

Legolas was only slightly tipsy, but Gimli was clearly in his cups. Soon, Legolas could leave and Gimli would not know until after he slept off the effects of the ale. One more mug should do it, he thought.

Gimli gladly accepted another mug, and smiled after drinking half in one swallow. He squinted his eyes and looked Legolas over carefully from across the table, “You’re looking a little green there. You’d better slow your pace, Master Elf.”

Legolas laughed, “I appreciate your concern, but I think I’m holding my own. How are you feeling?”

“Never better. You know, this Rohirrim ale is not half bad.” Gimli hiccupped, burped and wiped his fuzzy chin with the back of his hand. Then he gave what Legolas thought was a genuine smile as his eyes crinkled with exultation, “I know how much I’ve had to drink, and you have matched me cup for cup. Most do not come close and are flat on the floor by now. Gimli leaned forward and inched a fat finger at the elf. Legolas crossed his arms, placing his elbows on the table and bent his head towards the dwarf. Gimli looked left and right, as though he was checking to see if anyone was listening, but they were the only people in the tavern now. His eyes settled on Legolas once more. “I must admit that you are a worthy opponent, Master Elf, but if you tell anyone I said this, I’ll deny ever giving such a comment.”

Legolas laughed, his shoulders bouncing jovially, “I shall not tell another soul of your admission, and I thank you and take it as a great compliment coming from a dwarf.” Legolas leaned back in his chair and observed Gimli a moment before continuing. “Tell me, why are the dwarves such a stubborn race that they cannot even admit to giving homage?”

“Not just giving homage, but giving it to an elf. I’m not supposed to like you very much … according to my father, my father’s father and all that came before.”

Legolas crossed his arm and glared intensely at Gimli, “But what do you say, Master Dwarf, for I have never met your father or your father’s father.”

Gimli hiccupped again, bowed his head and found his words, “I find you quite companionable, I think. You have a very opinionated point of view, but you are smart, and I find you to be very loyal. I think you will behave in this manner for any of those in which you associate with, including a dwarf such as myself.”

Legolas relaxed his tight-armed stance, bringing his hands down to rest in his lap, “I can say the same thing. According to the records of my heritage, I should be leery of you, and I should not trust you to give help where help is needed. Yet, you are the first dwarf I have ever met, and all that I have to go on, and you are not like the dwarves that have been described to me. I am beginning to doubt what I have been taught.”

Gimli chuckled from behind his bushy beard, “Aye, lad, perhaps we have been taught unjustly.”

“Well, that was our father’s opinions. I see no reason why we cannot make our own.”

Gimli raised his half empty mug, gesturing for Legolas to do the same. The pewter clanked together as if to signal the promise of an optimistic future, and the two companions watched each other a moment. Then Gimli gave his toast, “Here’s to a new beginning. May each of our race learn to find peace amongst one another.”

“Hear, hear,” Legolas complied, having nothing better to add.

They each finished off what was left of their drinks, and slammed the mugs solidly onto the table. Gimli let out an ear rumbling belch, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and struggled to keep his eyes open, “Now, I know you are anxious to be going, but I’ll ask you to give me just a few moments rest before we leave.”

“Of course, Master Dw— Gimli,” Legolas corrected himself.

“I thank you, Legolas,” Gimli answered, and he laid his arms, crossed, upon the table, then his head fell upon his arms and he started snoring instantly.

Legolas chortled to himself. What a sight the dwarf was, drunk on Rohirric ale and befriended to an elf. He really did find that he liked Gimli’s company, which was why he hated to do what he was about to do. His plan had worked, and Gimli was sleeping deeply. The dwarf would wake to find Legolas gone without him. It would probably end any chance of strengthening their friendship, but going to Lothlórien was something Legolas must do on his own. Besides, Gimli would be needed here in Rohan with Aragorn and Eomer. He was just too stubborn to see that.

Legolas waved to the tavern owner, “Thank you, Holthain, and will you see that Gimli is taken good care of?”

“Of course,” Holthain answered as he went about his packing.

Legolas started for the door, but he paused and looked down at the bag in his hand. He really did feel quite bad about leaving Gimli, and worse about breaking the small bit of trust they’d started between each other. He pulled his book from the bag and went back to the place where Gimli slept, laid the book on the table by his head and stroked the cover, “Here’s to righting wrongs and healing old wounds. Take care of this for me.”

Gimli did not move, but he gave a grunt and then a snore. He hadn’t heard what Legolas said, but he would know how important a thing, and how difficult a choice it was to leave the elvish book behind. Gimli would understand and know that their trust hadn’t been broken. And with this gesture complete, Legolas left the tavern, left Rohan, and set his sights on Lothlórien.


	32. Lothlorien

Never having visited another elvish realm before, Legolas was unsure about his surroundings. He had made it to Lothlórien, or at least to the outer edges of their forest. He had no idea how far it was to the capitol city of Caras Galadhon, or who he would ask to speak to. He didn’t know their politics. Did he ask to see the lord and lady or their advisors? And where were all the elves? He had been walking for quite some time, and hadn’t seen another living soul. Somehow, he knew he was not alone though. Either the trees had eyes, or he was being watched by sentries. This was not Fangorn Forest, so the latter was probably the reason for his awareness. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, and kept his head covered by the hood.

Legolas noted how unwelcoming it felt, and remembered the stories Elhadron used to tell him as an elfling. He had spoken quite often of their sadness and constant search for the way back to Valinor, having never been completely satisfied with Middle-earth.

“They are always longing to return to the Blessed Realm, not caring about the life around them, and always so heavyhearted,” Elhadron had told him.

Odd, Legolas thought, Calariel was anything but despairing. She seemed full of life to the point of stubbornness. He wondered if perhaps Elhadron was wrong in his teachings. Maybe not all of the Noldor were anxious to return to Valinor. Calariel certainly seemed Middle-earth bound. Still, she was just one out of thousands, not an example of the whole race.

As he walked along, Legolas breathed deep. The air of the forest was so fresh and clean. There was not the dust and dirt of a man city clogging his senses, no smoke from fires or the unmistakable scents of livestock. Here in the woods, it was only the scent of earth disturbed by his footsteps, of dried leaves that littered the forest floor, and the occasional wafting of pine from the sparsely scattered conifers. Winter was coming to an end, but some of the trees still held their curling brown leaves. Oak, Legolas thought, they tended to be stubborn about discarding their foliage.

The sound of rushing water was getting louder. This must be the Celebrant, a stream that traveled from the Misty Mountains, ran through Lothlórien and emptied into the river Anduin. He was getting close, then. Caras Galadhon must be somewhere beyond the river, but not too far. He hurried his steps, now that he had some direction, and up ahead he could see a sandy bank.

When he reached the edge of the stream, Legolas was surprised to find a small rowboat that had been pulled up on the shore. He hadn’t been sure how he was going to cross the water, but this seemed too convenient. So, it was no surprise when he was preoccupied with the boat, that he hadn’t seen the sentries approach, and felt the point of an arrow held at his back. Legolas dropped the rope attached to the front of the boat and showed his empty hands as he remained bent over.

“Stand up slowly and state your name and reason for this intrusion,” said a stern male voice.

Without turning to his captives, Legolas did as he was told, “I am Legolas, and I come on behalf of Rohan.” He wondered if he should have been more specific and referred to King Théoden, but he hadn’t time to think.

“And what does Rohan want from Lothlórien?” the sentry asked.

“I would prefer to discuss that with your lord or lady,” Legolas answered.

There was a silent pause, then the sentry spoke again, “The Rohirrim have great fear for our realm, as well as the Lady of Light. A sorceress they call her. Do you not also fear her?”

Legolas reached for his hood, but the arrow’s point pushed uncomfortably into his back. He continued until he lowered it and revealed his identity, “I have no fear of my own kind.”

No one said anything, and Legolas waited for a response. Finally, the elf who spoke to him walked around in front so that Legolas could see him. He wore the same uniform as Calariel, multilayers in shades of grey. His hair was braided at the sides and hung down over his ears, silver hair much like his own, long and straight. He had a tall forehead and high cheekbones. Blue eyes gazed down his long nose, and his lips were drawn in a tight line. No, definitely not a warm welcome.

“You will come with me,” he finally said, and Legolas nodded.

They entered the boat, Legolas in front and the sentry at the back holding a paddle. The other elf, the one who had not spoken, remained on the shore and helped push the small boat out into the stream. Then they paddled across, and continued on towards the city.

Neither elf spoke for the remainder of the walk. Legolas had many questions, but this guard was not the person he should be asking. He wanted to know if Calariel was within the city, anxious to find out about her wellbeing, and whether she made a full recovery or not. Last he knew, she still had no voice, and he hoped that it had come back.

He also wondered if there was anyone who remembered his mother. This had been her home, her begetting place. Her departure had been one of scandal, running off with his father and marrying him against her family’s wishes. Actually, Legolas liked the fact that his parents had taken risks. They believed in each other, loved each other so much that nothing else mattered. But was there still animosity, even now that she was dead? And would those regrets affect Legolas, her son, half-son of Lothlórien?

Caras Galadhon was located on a hill surrounded by a deep moat and a wall that looked like very tall hedges, but what could have been solid. It was difficult to tell, and Legolas thought that it might have been made to look deceptive in that way. There was a bridge that led to a gate, the only way into the city, and that was where the sentry led Legolas. Guards were stationed everywhere. It was the most protected city he had ever seen. He knew he’d been watched since first entering the realm. No enemy could reach Caras Galadhon without first being detected by guards. They were everywhere, in the trees, atop the wall, outside the gate, inside the gate, and they all watched Legolas with suspicion.

The vision of the city, once inside, was that of pure enchantment. These trees were unlike anything Legolas had ever seen. They were so tall, he could hardly see the canopy. In fact, there seemed to be no canopy at all, rather stars twinkling in a clear night sky. They weren’t stars though. They were lanterns flickering, lighting houses and stairways. There were no buildings on the ground. Everything was built high up … a city in the trees. White rope ladders extended to the ground, the only way up. From there they led to platforms, and then to stairs that wound around the circumference of the trees. Flets surrounded the bole of the trees, round houses with roofs and windows. These individual buildings were all joined by suspended walkways so the elves seldom went to the forest floor.

Legolas’ heart beat rapidly at the sight, as if he was always meant to be here. He couldn’t help himself, and stopped following his escort, just to take it all in, mesmerized by the grandness of the city. He tore himself away from the awe of the place, and saw the sentry had stopped to allow Legolas a moment to appreciate the beauty of his home. The guard’s harsh face seemed to soften just a bit, pride for his city shining in his blue eyes as if to say, you’ll not find a more wondrous place in all of Middle-earth.

“Is this him?” someone said, and Legolas turned around to find a new sentry, one who looked very similar to the one who brought him here.

“Yes, Brother. Rúmil and I caught him at the river, preparing to come across on one of the boats.”

Brother, Legolas thought to himself. That explained the resemblance, the same forehead and slanted cat’s eyes. Then he wondered how this new guard knew about him already. The other elf, the one they called Rúmil, stayed behind, and Legolas hadn’t seen them use any kind of messenger bird.

“A boat?” asked the new guard, agitated. “Why was there a boat out in plain sight?”

“We had brought it out to use, but when we heard the stranger approaching, we hadn’t time any time, and left it by the shore,” answered the brother.

Legolas thought this new sentry was being rather strict with his sibling, treating him as if he were just another soldier and not blood related. Théodred had never spoken so harshly towards him, and Legolas was not even related, but considered a brother. It seemed there was no room for mistakes of any kind here in Lothlórien.

“Use more caution in the future, Orophin,” the elf said to his brother.

Orophin nodded and bowed respectfully. When he stood straight again, he conferred with his brother, “Shall I take him to the main house?”

Orophin’s brother looked Legolas over carefully before he spoke, “I will take him there personally. They will be anxious to speak to him.”

Who were ‘they’ and why were they anxious? Legolas thought. “Do you speak of the lord and lady of the woods?”

Those blue cat eyes slanted dangerously. Legolas did not receive an answer, but rather an introduction, “My name is Haldir, March warden of Lothlórien, and Captain of the Northern Army. You’ve met my brothers, Orophin and Rúmil.” Haldir circled around Legolas, coming to a stop in front of the Mirkwood elf, “Very dangerous of you to enter the Golden Woods without invitation. Most are shot on sight who break through our borders.”

Legolas did not like this elf’s condescending attitude, tossing it right back to his captor, “Nice of you to let me live then.” He gave Haldir a half smirking smile.

“For now, anyways,” Haldir answered, and he returned the patronizing grin.

Legolas should have felt threatened or angry at his treatment, but he somehow knew the two strong-headed elves understood each other. And this ease of attitude that encompassed Legolas, which was very unnatural behavior for him, seemed to blossom quickly beneath the canopy of the mallorn trees. He could feel his kinship with these elves, and was reminded of the longing he felt as an elfling having spotted the Lórien guards on the dock. Now he knew why. He was partly related to these tree-dwelling elves.

“As for the Lord and Lady,” Haldir continued, “They have been expecting you. I will take you to them now.”

“Thank you,” Legolas answered courteously, and he followed Haldir to one of the many rope ladders. Once in the trees, they walked deeper into the grand forest, following pathways and spiraling staircases. Like his brother, Orophin, Haldir was silent as they went, but Legolas was curious about one thing.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Pardon?” Haldir said, interrupted from his thoughts.

“Before you spoke to your brother, you asked if I was him. How did you know Orophin was bringing me to the city?” asked Legolas.

Haldir stopped walking and waited for Legolas to come up beside him. His countenance turned serious as he eyed Legolas, “You’ve heard of the magic of the Lórien elves, I suppose, and of the Lady Galadriel’s all-knowing powers?”

Actually, Legolas had heard of these things through the tales of the Rohirrim, who feared Galadriel and her sorcery, but he knew better than to believe it as fact. Could he have been wrong? The look of confusion on his face must have given him away, and Haldir laughed as he shook his head slowly back and forth, “Well, it wasn’t that. Have you forgotten about the elleth you helped in Fangorn?”

Now Legolas felt foolish for being dragged into Haldir’s twisted humor. Of course, it had been Calariel who told the Lórien elves about him. She had left the message in the sand to come here. They knew he would come and were expecting him. But his embarrassment quickly subsided at the mention of the elleth, “Calariel, do you know her? Is she alright?”

“I do know her,” Haldir admitted, “I know her father better. He was my captain when I first joined the army. Retired captain now, of course, but still very much involved. It was only natural that his only child would follow in his footsteps. Túrdir is grateful to you for helping his daughter, and she has not stopped talking about you.”

“Talking?” Legolas asked anxiously, “So her voice returned?”

Haldir knitted his brows together, “I hadn’t known that it escaped her.”

Legolas remembered finding her, dazed and confused by the poison coursing through her veins, “She was bad off when I came upon her, and though she recovered, her voice never returned, paralyzed from the poison. I was afraid I’d been too late with treatment, and that the loss of her voice was permanent.” He looked left and then right, as though searching for her, “Is she here within the city? I would very much like to see her again … to see for myself that she is alright.”

“All in due time, but first, you must meet with Lady Galadriel. All visitors to our woods must hold counsel with her first before they can roam the city unescorted,” Haldir informed him. Then they continued up another staircase that took them to the highest house in the trees, the biggest one that glimmered silver against the darkness of the forest.

The top of the staircase emptied onto a large platform, more like a veranda, Legolas thought. Across from where he stood were steps that led into what he presumed was the main hall of their home. It was difficult to tell, as the doorway glowed, a brilliant silver light flooding the platform where he stood. Legolas noticed that Haldir stepped to the side, leaving him standing alone as he waited for his hosts.

The light beam was interrupted by two silhouettes, both of the same height, taller than Legolas himself, and both wearing long full length robes. They came forward until the features of their faces were no longer veiled. The Lord and Lady of Lothlórien emerged from the doorway and floated effortlessly down the steps. Celeborn held his hand out to her, and Galadriel’s long slender fingers wrapped gently around his. Celeborn’s eyes were fixed on Legolas, and he felt suddenly very miniscule in the lord’s presence. Galadriel glanced at her husband, a faint smile upon her lips. Then she turned her attention to Legolas. The smile faded from her lips, but her eyes were still warm and welcoming.

“Legolas, we have been expecting you for some time. We are very glad you decided to come to Lothlórien, but your reason for being here is strange to us. You have come on behalf of Rohan?” Lady Galadriel said, her voice smooth and motherly.

“I … I was not sure who to speak with,” Legolas stammered, feeling nervous all of a sudden. These were two of the longest lived Eldar residing in Middle-earth. The Lady Galadriel had come across the icy wastelands from Valinor. Perhaps only Gandalf came close to her in age, but he seemed more humbled and connected to the inhabitants of Middle-earth. Galadriel seemed like a queen, unreachable. And Celeborn’s unending stare was making Legolas feel uneasy. He glanced quickly at the Lord of Lothlórien, averting his eyes just as soon as they reached the noble face. Legolas found his voice and continued, “Yes, my lady, I come to you as … as a representative of Rohan. We … uh, they have fallen upon desperate times. Théoden’s people travel to Helm’s Deep seeking safety as war seems inevitable. You see, it all started when—”

“There is no need to inform us,” Galadriel interrupted, her kind smile returning. “I have seen them, and I know their story. Mithrandir disagrees with King Théoden’s decision, but he should not. It is a wise choice to go to their stronghold.”

“Our … their numbers are low. A large portion of the army rides to the north. Gandalf has gone looking for them, but I fear he may be too late. So I have taken it upon myself to come to Lothlórien, and ask the Lord and Lady for their help, for reinforcement from the elves.”

Galadriel let go of her husband’s hand and came forward. She stood only a foot away from Legolas, reached out and softly touched his cheek. She cocked her head to the side questioningly, “Why do you keep correcting yourself? We instead of they, and our instead of their. You consider yourself one of them, do you not?”

Yes, he had, but now, in the presence of these noble elves, he thought it seemed wrong to claim a human realm as his own, especially when said humans considered Lothlórien to be occupied by deceiving magic. “Rohan has been my home for longer than anywhere else that I’ve lived. They accept me as one of them.”

“Then you should not deny your connection with the Rohirrim,” she corrected him.

“I’m sorry, my lady, it’s only—” Legolas cut his words short as he noticed Celeborn taking slow unsure steps towards him.

Galadriel noticed this and held her hand out to her husband, “Celeborn.”

“I … I am baffled, my love. He looks so much like … her,” Celeborn said with wonder.

‘Her’, Legolas thought. That could only mean one thing. He swallowed hard and gave Celeborn his full attention, “You speak of my mother, don’t you? Did you know her? Do you remember her?”

“Of course I remember her,” Celeborn answered. He moved closer and looked deep into Legolas’ blue eyes, “You do not know then. Has no one told you?”

“Told me what?” Legolas responded, suddenly feeling like he needed some distance between himself and these high elves.

Celeborn looked at his wife, and she gave a single nod for him to continue, “Your mother, Almárëa, she was my sister. And that means you, Laiqalassë, are of my blood, my sister’s son, my nephew.”

* * *

Legolas was still in complete shock as he followed Haldir down the spiraling staircase, further away from Galadriel’s home, further away from the man who claimed to be family. How was it possible that no one had bothered to tell him these important facts about his identity? Elhadron had plenty of opportunity to tell him who he was, but for reasons of protection, chose not to disclose any information. That was understandable, Legolas said to himself, and maybe if he had lived, he might have gotten around to mentioning that he was a prince. Gandalf had known his parents and had surely known of his relationship to Celeborn, yet the wizard never made any mention of it.

The questions swirled endlessly in his head. Why hadn’t he been told? Why had Elhadron dissuaded him from ever going to Lothlórien, when he must have known there was family there? And all these years, Legolas had been driven from one human realm to the other, thinking that there was no one left to claim as family, the last of them having perished in Mirkwood. There were so many things he needed to ask Galadriel and Celeborn, but the shock of the information that Celeborn was his uncle had stifled his words.

Galadriel concluded the visit by telling Haldir to show Legolas to his guest quarters where he undoubtedly needed rest. She also needed time to think about his request to aid the Rohirrim at Helm’s Deep. Legolas did not have much time though. He needed to get back to Théoden and Eomer, to the stronghold, to something solid and familiar. He suddenly felt very uneasy in Lothlórien, partially unwelcomed, partly unwanted. He was the son of the woman who ran off with the Elven King of Mirkwood, who had married him against her family’s wishes, who was slain by orcs and the blame of her death laid upon Thranduil’s shoulders. Legolas would have been on his way by now, if it weren’t for his request for aid. He was sure Galadriel could have given him an answer right there, but she had chosen to wait. Why was that? Was she hoping he and Celeborn would spend some quality time getting to know each other? There was no time for this now. War was coming. The enemy would be knocking on the gates of the Hornburg soon. He would not abandon his friends, his adopted family, not like Celeborn did to his father and Mirkwood.

He had half a mind to march back up those stairs and demand an answer from Galadriel, but something told him if he did that, he might never get the help he sought. It was not for himself that he asked this of Lothlórien, but for Rohan and those who gave him a home and a second chance.

Haldir and Legolas finally reached the guest talans, a group of simply made houses, all clustered together around the same tree with walkways connecting them to one another. The other houses seemed unoccupied, and Legolas thought they didn’t see many guests here in this overly protected place.

Haldir opened the door and led the way into the small room. The layout was pretty self-explanatory … no need to be shown around. There was a bed, a side table, a writing desk, and a stand that held a pitcher and basin for washing.

“Bathing rooms are down the pathway to the left. The dining hall is one flight down. Once you reach the flet, turn right and stay on the bridges until you reach a large building that surrounds the tree. It’s the biggest building on that level. Hot meals are served regularly, but there is always fruit and bread available for between meals. I will come for you again, when the Lady Galadriel requests your presence. In the meantime, you are free to walk around the city.”

“Thank you, Haldir,” Legolas said, feeling a kinship with the March warden.

As he reached the doorway, Haldir turned back, seeming uneasy to speak, but there was obviously something on his mind. “I … met Thranduil once a long time ago. He was very kind to me, not at all what I expected.”

“And just what did you expect?” Legolas asked. He wanted to know what the elves of Lothlórien had been told about his father.

“Well, as you know, he was not always a welcomed guest here. And at the time, he was seeking help to defend his wooded home. Aid was declined, and Thranduil was not happy about it. It’s said that he marched out of the meeting with his head held high, claiming that he’d misjudged Lórien and its rulers. Celeborn called him reckless, too quick to act, which was a dangerous trait. But when I met Thranduil, it was later, after he’d held counsel with the Lord and Lady. He was standing on one of the connecting bridges, hands grasping the rope railing, and looking down through the trees. To me he looked vulnerable, like a man out of options. I did not see the tyrant king as described in stories. He was just an average elf, no different than me, trying to find a way to save his home and his people. But he was still very passionate, and I saw that when I spoke to him. I offered my condolences for his wife, your mother, and told him I disagreed with Lord Celeborn’s decision not to become involved. I guess I expected him to look worn, in need of my sympathy, but it was Thranduil who took sympathy upon me. He said he wished I knew what it was like to live life looking forward seeking hope, not looking backwards and seeing only regret. I never quite understood that until now. You are just like him, looking forward.”

Legolas was shocked by Haldir’s admission, and at the same time, proud of his father’s response. “I’ve never had anything to look back at,” Legolas said, “So I suppose I’ve had no other option than to look forward.”

Haldir huffed a quiet laugh, “Neither did your father.” He stepped through the doorway, and then added, “Not after he met your mother.” With that, Haldir left Legolas alone in his guest talan.

* * *

It had only been a few hours, but Legolas hadn’t any patience for waiting. He decided to make his way down a level to where the dining hall was, not to eat, but to see if he could find Haldir again. He figured the March warden was his best chance of escorting him back to the Lord and Lady where he would request another counsel. Waiting for Galadriel to give him an answer was making him too anxious. All Legolas could think about was Eomer and Théoden leading the people of Rohan to Helm’s Deep. He took a bit of comfort in knowing that Aragorn and Gimli accompanied them. Aragorn was an excellent scout, and Gimli was terrifying with his ax, but Legolas couldn’t help feeling guilty for not being there with them. Hopefully, they had arrived at the stronghold by now, safe and unharmed.

Time to get a yes or no answer from Galadriel and Celeborn. They would send elvish troops or not, either way, Legolas wanted to be on his way. And there was something unnerving about Celeborn, the way he studied Legolas with a sharp eye, the unwelcoming way he introduced himself as his uncle, and all of the unanswered questions. Legolas was an ill omen, a reminder of a time that Celeborn must have wanted to forget. There was more to the story of his parents than he had been told, and Legolas’ presence was opening up old wounds.

He made his way down the winding staircase to the platform below, but now he couldn’t remember which way Haldir had told him to go. There were four pathways leading from this area. Was it left or right, and did it depend on if he was facing the stairs or away from them. He turned this way and that, and then chose to go left. Besides, Haldir said it was the largest building on this level, so how could he miss it?

And miss it he did. Legolas followed the pathways and crossed a hand full of suspended bridges, each one with paths branching off in different directions. How were they able to navigate all of these walkways? He ended up in what seemed to be a residential area of the tree city, with houses dotted here and there, anchored to the trees that they were built in. None of the buildings he saw were as big as Haldir described. “Right,” he mumbled to himself, “should have gone right.”

“Legolas?” said a womanly voice that he did not recognize. He’d only spoken to one female, and that had been Galadriel. This was not her, but when he turned to see who it was, he instantly felt relief.

“Calariel!” he called to her. She looked much more vibrant than the last time he’d seen her. The natural glow of the elves and her smile reassured him that she had made a full recovery. Instead of the soldier’s garb, she wore a full length gown, simple but elegant in mauve with silver trim. Her brown hair hung loose, framing her pretty face.

“I’d heard that you arrived, but I was preoccupied,” she said as she embraced Legolas, taking him by surprise. He had known her for only a short time, in which she was unconscious for part of it.

Legolas smiled, “Say that again.”

“What?” she said confused.

Legolas laughed, “Your voice, it has healed.” It sounded much more pleasant now than when he first met her. Delusional from a poisonous wound, she thought he was a Southron, and had called him all sorts of foul names.

“Oh,” she smiled and blushed, “Yes, good as new, you might say.” Calariel looked around, expecting to see someone with him, “What are you doing in this area? The guest quarters are up and over that way,” she said pointing.

“I was trying to find the dining hall. Actually, I was hoping to find Haldir there, but I guess I got lost,” he answered.

“That is an easy thing to do when you are not familiar with the layout. Shall I take you there?”

“If I’m not interrupting anything.” Legolas was more than happy to have Calariel’s company.

“I’d be happy to,” she answered with an infectious smile.

They walked a little way before either one spoke. Then Calariel broke the silence, “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you seek Haldir?”

“I was hoping for another audience with Lady Galadriel, and I thought, since Haldir took me there originally, he might lead me back,” Legolas answered.

“Oh, so you’ve met already,” she said.

Legolas told her about his plans to ask for aid, and Galadriel’s hesitation, but he made no mention of Celeborn or his mother. Still, it had been Calariel who wrote his Quenya name in the sand and told him to come to Lothlórien. She would not have done that if she hadn’t already known who he was. He decided now was not the time. The shock of finding out that Celeborn was family hadn’t completely sunk in yet. Better to absorb bits instead of the whole thing.

They eventually made their way to the dining hall. The dinner crowd had already dispersed, but there were a few stragglers around, none of which were Haldir. Calariel talked Legolas into having something to eat. He agreed, although he was not really hungry. His mind was too set on leaving. He felt guilty for being here, eating and resting, while the Rohirrim and his friends were preparing for war. Their rations would be small, saved for the women, children, elderly and sick. The men would sustain themselves by preparing for the coming battle. They would feast afterwards, if there was any reason to feast.

Legolas was edgy, wishing to get away, and Calariel noticed, “What is wrong, Legolas?”

He shook his head, “I should not be here. Galadriel is taking too long with her decision. I don’t understand why she could not give me an answer right away. There’s no time for this unhurried attitude.”

“I’m sure Lady Galadriel knows the anxiousness of the situation. She has probably gone to consult her mirror,” Calariel informed. “Anything that has to do with the concerns of those outside of Lórien must be carefully considered.”

“Her mirror?” Legolas asked.

“Have you not heard of it?”

“I’ve read about it. It shows the past, present and future,” Legolas said.

“It is more than that,” Calariel whispered as she leaned forward. “Galadriel’s mirror shows outcomes of different decisions made from the past and present. It is said that anything shown in the mirror must be taken into careful consideration. If one wishes too strongly, it will only show you want you want to see, giving a false vision. And not everything that the mirror shows will happen. It depends on the path that the asker takes.”

“So, Galadriel is looking to see what will happen if Lothlórien intervenes with Rohan?” Legolas asked, curious about this mirror.

“She would never risk her people or her realm. They are her first priority.”

Legolas wondered if she looked into her mirror when his father came and asked for help. What had she seen then that she decided to leave Mirkwood to its own, which eventually led to its destruction? “Seems like a useless device, if you ask me. When someone is in trouble and asks for assistance, the only thing that should matter is helping those in need.” He waited for Calariel to counter his thoughts, but she said nothing. “Do you disagree with Galadriel’s way of making decisions?”

“No … well … I don’t know … it’s … it’s difficult,” she stammered.

Legolas was taken aback by her response, “So you are saying that if the decision was yours, you would not seek advice first, but act from your heart.”

She seemed nervous to discuss this, as if it were forbidden to question the Lord and Lady or their methods. Since they were on the difficult subject, Legolas decided to ask her, “How did you know my name, my true name, and who I was?”

Calariel’s mouth moved like a fish gasping for air as she tried to find the right words. In the end, she smiled, half composing herself, “It is a long story, and you are in a hurry. You said there is no time to waste.”

“If it has to do with myself or my family, I have time. So tell me, Calariel, how did you recognize me, and why did you ask me to come, when it seems obvious that my presence makes some people very nervous,” said Legolas, pushing for more information.

“What do you mean?” she asked, but her voice was shaky, and Legolas got a sense that she already knew who he spoke of.

“I know I am a Prince. I know that Thranduil was my father, and I have recently been informed that my mother was Lord Celeborn’s sister. So you see, nothing you can say will shock me. I’ve learned so much in such a short period of time that I think I’ve grown numb. You seem to hold another piece of the puzzle, so tell me how you know me when we have never met.”

Calariel knew there was no excuse she could make to get herself out of this discussion. She had known it since she decided to write his name in the sand. The likeness was too great for it not to be him. She had written in Quenya, and if he recognized it, he would come. And here he was.

“You are right, of course, it does have to do with your family … your mother, to be more precise. I did not know her, but my father did,” she said, getting her thoughts together.

“Your father?” Legolas asked confused. Haldir had mentioned knowing Calariel’s father.

Calariel nodded, but she kept her head down, “She … she was to marry him.”


	33. A Reunion of Sorts

Legolas was bewildered, thinking that nothing could shock him anymore, as Calariel claimed that his mother was betrothed to her father. He was speechless, not even knowing what to ask next. Calariel continued for him, “I don’t think I was ever meant to find out about it, but I came upon some drawings one day, of a beautiful elleth with the most striking eyes. They weren’t drawings of my mother, and I had never seen this elleth anywhere in Lothlórien. I asked him about it, and that’s when my father told me about Almárëa, your mother.”

Calariel’s father, Túrdir, had known Almárëa ever since they were elflings. They had grown up together, schooled together, and had become inseparable friends. As they reached their majority, Túrdir felt the friendship could blossom into something more. Eventually, he asked her to marry him, and she had agreed. But it was during the betrothal period that Almárëa met the young, outgoing wood elf prince … Thranduil. He was brazen, rash, and at times careless, very different from any of the Lothlórien elves. Almárëa was captured by his handsomeness and his bold outlook of life and Middle-earth. He had filled her head with stories of the lands and their people that he’d met throughout his adventures. Almárëa had never left the protected borders of Lothlórien, and she was enraptured by his stories, wishing that she too could see these amazing places. Somewhere along the way, she fell in love with Thranduil, and he with her, and she broke her engagement to Túrdir.

“It was all done well within the laws of marriage, though something like this is rare. She gave back the ring that my father had given her, and the betrothal was dissolved. It is said that Almárëa saw Thranduil in secret for quite a long time after that, until Lord Celeborn, her brother, learned what was happening. Your mother was honest, though, and confessed to falling in love with the Prince of Greenwood the Great, and that she had been meeting him secretly from time to time.”

Celeborn instantly forbade Almárëa from seeing Thranduil, and she threatened to run away to Greenwood, but her threats could not be carried out. War broke out and Thranduil, along with his father King Oropher, joined in the battle at Dagorlad. To everyone’s great sadness, Oropher was slain, and so when the diminished army returned home, Thranduil established his reign over the Silvan Elves of Eryn Galen, thus ending his visits to Lothlórien for the secret meetings with Almárëa.

But he had not forgotten her. When life returned to normal, Thranduil, now King, wrote to Almárëa and asked to visit her. He’d decided he would not hide their relationship anymore, but he received no answer. Several more letters were sent and went unanswered, but Thranduil was known for persistence. He went to Lothlórien hoping for an audience with Almárëa, and on his journey there, made up his mind to ask her for her hand in marriage. He would do it properly, and ask her family also.

Thranduil arrived in regal splendor, hoping to impress Lord Celeborn, her only family in Middle-earth. He would impress Celeborn, tell him that his love for Almárëa was true, and ask to marry her. However, he would never get the chance. Lord Celeborn told Thranduil that he knew about the secret meetings, and that the elven king was responsible for the dissolving of a legitimate betrothal between his sister and one of Lothlórien’s finest captains, Túrdir. Thranduil was denied his request for marriage, permission to see Almárëa, and he was sent away at once.

“There was nothing he could do, so your father left as he was ordered to do,” Calariel continued. “But as he was about to exit the last protective border, Almárëa appeared, shocking Thranduil and his company. She told him that none of what happened was her idea, that she still loved him, and asked him to take her with him. And so they rode out of Lothlórien together, returned to Eryn Galen, and married before anyone could come in time to stop her.”

Legolas was flabbergasted, “Wow.”

Calariel gave him a questioning gaze, “You mean, you never knew the story of your parents?”

“My mother died not long after I was born. I don’t really remember her, except for her voice as she sang to me. And my father only ever told me how much I looked like her and how much she loved me. Gandalf only gave me a brief description, not the whole story,” he answered. “It sounds like such a romantic tale.”

Calariel took a sip of her wine, and when she set the glass down, her demeanor seemed to change to something more solemn, “I guess you could say that.”

Legolas had been so enthralled with the story, he hadn’t taken the time to realize that it was Calariel’s father who had been hurt. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to—”

“It’s alright. It’s something that happened long before I was born, and my father found love again with my mother,” she interrupted.

“But obviously, the pain never truly faded, for he still had my mother’s sketches hidden away. It was my father that caused that pain,” he said humbly.

“If she had deeply loved my father, she would not have left him, and they were young then. Perhaps neither one knew what they really wanted,” Calariel said convincingly.

Legolas flashed her his best smile, “And you would not be here now.”

Calariel blushed, “Well, neither would you, now would you?”

Legolas picked up his wine glass and raised it in the air, “Here’s to dissolved betrothals.”

Calariel mimicked him, and brought her glass up, “And to elopement.”

They touched glasses and their eyes locked a moment as they made a connection. Then the moment was over, as they brought their glasses to their lips, and drank to complete the toast. Legolas allowed the wine to dance on his tongue before swallowing. Then he looked up through his long lashes to find Calariel watching him, “So, you never told me how you knew who I was when we met in Fangorn.”

Calariel shrugged her shoulders as she swallowed her last sip, “From the sketches of your mother, of course. Your father was correct to say that you look just like her. The comparison is uncanny. It’s in the eyes and the lips, unmistakable. And your name is such a close version of its pure form.”

“Yet, you said nothing.”

She shook her head slowly from side to side, “I hadn’t even known you survived the burning, no one did. We all thought Thranduil’s son died along with the other wood elves. And then when you denied being a prince, well… it was just a guess anyways, with only a drawing of an elleth to go by. I thought it best not to mention it if I wasn’t completely sure.”

Legolas blew out a short breath that sounded like a laugh, “It’s not as though you could say anything. You know, with your voice and all. And how do you write all of that in a little patch of sand.”

“Hah,” she laughed nervously, and her cheeks flushed pink once more.

“You were mute, weren’t you, from the poison?”

“About that—” she started, but they were interrupted when Haldir approached their table.

“Hello, Calariel,” the marchwarden addressed her, his eyes a sparkling grey.

“Haldir, we were looking for you,” Calariel said.

Haldir examined the empty plates and half empty wine glasses, “Yes, I see how hard you have been searching.” Then he looked at Legolas, and the friendliness that seemed to develop between them earlier had tarnished for some reason.

Legolas had a sense for these things. Haldir, it seemed, had feelings for Calariel, whether she knew about them or not. And it was a safe bet that she hadn’t known. He instantly thought of his father wooing his mother away from Túrdir, and made himself least threatening as possible. Legolas stood and gave Haldir a slight bow, abandoning Calariel and any attention he had been giving her before Haldir arrived. “I came here looking for you actually. I would like to meet with Lady Galadriel again. I find that my time here has become too long, and I cannot wait much longer.”

“You’re in luck then. I was just coming to get you. Lady Galadriel has made her decision,” Haldir informed him.

Legolas bowed to Calariel, and followed Haldir from the dining hall. Before he rounded the corner, Legolas looked back over his shoulder, finding Calariel watching him leave. He would have liked to stay a bit longer. She was a joy to talk to, and she knew so much about his parents. No one he’d met had ever given him so much information.

Eventually, Haldir brought him to the same talan home as when he first arrived. To his surprise, it was Celeborn, not Galadriel who met him. Legolas stood still, waiting for some direction. Haldir bowed, and with a flick of his hand, Celeborn signaled for Haldir to leave. This would be a private conversation, one that Legolas had expected. After all, this was his uncle.

“Come,” Celeborn ordered, his voice soft, but a tinge of authority made it clear that no one disobeyed the Lord of Lothlórien. He led Legolas to another part of their home, a room closed off to the rest of the large multi-chambered talan. It was a bit unnerving, not knowing what Celeborn had in mind, and being led to a private room. Legolas had a brief flash of being imprisoned in the cells beneath Edoras, but it quickly passed when he saw the inside of the room. It was furnished with a beautiful hand woven rug depicting deer jumping over a stream. There was a desk carved from white oak, and a chair that matched it. Two more chairs faced the front of the desk. This was where Celeborn motioned for Legolas to sit. Surprisingly, Celeborn took the other chair, rather than sit behind his desk. The elf lord had left the door open, and a servant appeared, hands folded, as he awaited word from Celeborn.

“Bring us wine,” he ordered, and the servant went away quickly. Then Celeborn’s attention settled on Legolas. He looked the wood elf over carefully, not saying a word.

Legolas felt very uncomfortable, and he was already feeling pressured to be on his way, always worrying and wondering about Rohan. Unable to wait another moment, Legolas spoke first, “Haldir said that Lady Galadriel has made her decision about my request for aid.”

“She has and you will know her decision shortly. But first, I thought it might be proper to have a moment to get to know my … nephew.” The word seemed to stick in Celeborn’s throat, but it didn’t deter him from continuing. “I can’t seem to get over how very much you resemble your mother, Laiqalassë.”

“So I’ve been told,” Legolas answered carefully. “And I prefer to be called Legolas,” he corrected.

“Of course, Legolas,” Celeborn said, accepting the correction, “So, Calariel must have told you about the likeness. That’s how she recognized you. We are very grateful for all that you did for her back in Fangorn Forest. She might not have survived had you not come upon her when you did.”

“Actually, an Ent called Beechbone found her first. Then he led me to her,” Legolas informed.

“You have met the Ents also?” Celeborn asked surprised.

“Just the one.” Legolas kept his answers short. Although this elf was his family, he did not know him. Legolas couldn’t help but wonder why his father and Elhadron had gone to such lengths to keep him away from Lothlórien. Now, all he wanted was to be on his way, with or without troops. “I am sorry if this seems a bit rash, but if I could just know what Lady Galadriel has decided—”

“We were sorry to hear about King Thranduil. Many laments were sung in his honor,” Celeborn interrupted.

Legolas was silent a moment, as he tried to contain his agitation, but anger won out, “I thank you, but maybe your singers could have been spared their voices had aid been sent to Mirkwood in their most desperate hour.” The niceties had come to an end.

“Your father came to us too late,” Celeborn countered.

“But he came, did he not? And Lothlórien ignored his pleas for help.”

“Thranduil never pleaded. He only demanded, and I will not barter with anyone who behaves with such arrogance.” The volume of Celeborn’s voice rose a bit.

“And so a whole race should be punished because you did not like how my father asked for your help?” Legolas came forward in his chair, ready to jump up and leave at a moment’s notice.

“Your father,” said Celeborn, putting emphasis on the word, “took more than his share when he lured your mother away from her home. He could not protect the one thing that he said mattered more to him than his own life. So why should Lórien have risked the lives of its people for someone who was so careless with the life of the one that he claimed to love?” Celeborn stood and turned away from Legolas, walking over to a bookshelf. He gently touched a circlet that laid there, made from vines that had long since dried and browned. The design was quite intricate, crisscrossing over each other so that there was no beginning and no end. Legolas thought it had a look of familiarity to it, though he couldn’t quite place it. While he tried to remember where he’d seen the design before, Celeborn continued the conversation, his voice low and almost trembling. “Did he even tell you how she died?”

“She was attacked by orcs,” Legolas answered. That was all the explanation he’d been given. That was all he needed to know.

“She was dragged off, tortured, maybe even raped. For three days, she had been in their filthy hands. By the time Thranduil found her, she was dead.” Celeborn turned towards Legolas, the circlet held carefully in his hands. “Three days … three agonizing days, and where was Thranduil? How could he have let that happen? Why did he not find her quicker, and save her from such a hideous death?”

Legolas was upset with Celeborn for blaming his father for his mother’s death. Thranduil would have done everything within his power to find her, and he did; Legolas was sure of it, especially after seeing him die at the hands of the invading enemy. “You were not there to see how determined my father was to fight the enemy. You make it sound as though he sat around lazily, never lifted a hand. But he fought every battle with his men … stood on the front lines and charged the enemy. And when the orcs finally burst through the throne room door, my father was the last to die, sacrificing himself so that I might have a chance of escape. I watched him die. I watched as his sword was ripped away and he fought the orcs with his bare hands, saw his body fall to the floor, saw him give up the struggle only because his soul had departed his body. That’s how much he loved his people, his wife, and his only son. He did all he could do, swallowed his pride by coming to Lothlórien, and faced the enemy alone when he was denied any help. That’s who my father was.”

Just then, the servant came back with a carafe of wine and two glasses. Celeborn used the interruption to gather himself, but Legolas let his own seething help him get through this difficult meeting. He was unsure what Celeborn might do if he walked out without a proper dismissal, and he could not afford to be contained. Surely, Saruman’s troops were well on their way to Helm’s Deep by now.

The servant disappeared, closing the door behind him. Obviously, the conversation had traveled further than intended. Legolas remained seated, though every muscle was tense and ready to bolt. Celeborn looked at the tray that held the wine and glasses, as though deciding whether to waste any on his young nephew or not. Legolas decided to make the choice for him.

“I cannot sit around here, arguing about the decisions that my father and you made. What’s done is done. Now, there is a race of men who will fight valiantly even though they know they are greatly outnumbered by the enemy. King Théoden did not ask me to come here. I’ve come by my own free will, in hope of finding some compassion from your people. I see I have wasted my time.” Legolas got up from his chair, and without waiting for a response from Celeborn, turned and went to the door. Just as his hand grabbed the handle, Celeborn spoke.

“Your request for aid from Lothlórien has been denied,” the elf lord said. “This war belongs to the race of men, not elves.”

“This war belongs to at least one elf,” Legolas shot back. Then he glanced at Celeborn, eyes narrowed and catlike. “It was so nice getting to know you … uncle.” Without waiting for further instruction, Legolas burst through the door, slamming it behind him, and left the home of the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien.

He walked onto the veranda where he had first met them, and found Haldir standing at the top of the staircase that led to the lower levels, “That seemed to go well,” Haldir jested. Unfortunately, he hadn’t know how deeply hurtful the meeting had been with Celeborn.

Legolas didn’t have time to quarrel with anyone else, “I wish to be on my way. Can you lead me back to my horse, or shall I make my own way there? At least I know how to get to the ground.”

Haldir’s light mood quickly vanished, “This way.” He led Legolas along a series of walkways, bridges and stairs. They stopped briefly at the guest quarters where he retrieved his bow and knives, and when they left, they ran into Calariel.

“How did it go?” she asked anxiously.

“I wouldn’t ask if I were you,” Haldir said first.

Legolas shot him an icy glare. Haldir knew nothing of what transpired, and he wished the marchwarden would keep his mouth shut. “It seems my uncle still holds a grudge for something that happened long ago. Lothlórien will not send aid.”

“What?” Calariel asked surprised. “But I was sure they would. You are family after all.”

“That sort of thing seems not to matter much to your lord,” Legolas said angrily. He walked off, not waiting for Haldir to lead the way. He could probably find his own way from here. But Haldir hurried up ahead and took control.

Calariel ran to keep up with them, “What will you do then?”

“I will go to Helm’s Deep and fight with those that I consider more family than my own blood,” he said, referring to Celeborn.

“Well, then … I … I’m coming with you!” she demanded, and Legolas stopped walking to round on her. He looked her directly in her hazel eyes, wondering what this was about, but Calariel seemed sincere and determined.

“I will not risk it. And besides, Celeborn does not give his permission,” he said. Legolas spun around, but Calariel took hold of his arm before he made another step.

“I do not need anyone’s permission. I decide for myself, and I choose to go with you.”

“Why?” Legolas asked, “You don’t even know me. And from what you have said, my family has shamed yours. Why would you risk your life?”

“Because—” she paused, trying to think of why, “Because I believe in your cause. Because I believed in your father’s cause, and because I never could find it within my heart to agree with the Lady’s decision.” Calariel reached up and touched her hand to the side of Legolas’ face. “I can’t help but wonder what might have happened if Celeborn and Galadriel had sent troops to Mirkwood. You might still have your father and your people. Instead, you have been raised in secret by humans, never even knowing the truth of who your father was.”

If she thought she was helping, she was greatly mistaken. Legolas furrowed his brow and removed her hand, “Do not take pity on me, Calariel. I have learned much from these humans, as you put it. I’ve learned that they react with their hearts first, out of love for their family and their country. They fight for their freedom, not turning away like the Noldor here in your precious woods. My father was right to hide me from this place. You cannot see ahead, for the past that haunts you, but how do you expect to find the splendor you seek if you do not make the most of the place that you now live?”

“Not all of us look backwards. I don’t. I never have, which is why I want to come with you. I want to see evil vanished from Middle-earth just as much as you. I don’t long to return to a distant land that I don’t even know. This is the only home I’ve ever known, and if I can help make it better for all, then that is what I want to do before I feel the pull of the Undying Lands.”

By now, Haldir had walked back to where they stood and addressed Calariel, “You cannot leave. Your father would be furious.”

“I have to do this, Haldir. You know better than anyone that my father would rather have married me off to be a good little elleth, safe and sound from harm. And none of this,” she said, gesturing to the soldier’s uniform that she wore, “would have happened if you hadn’t helped convince him. I appreciate all that you’ve done for me, but I need to do something on my own for once.”

Legolas watched Haldir’s eyes soften as he looked at Calariel, his mind going over all the different scenarios if he should let her go. Then, Calariel batted her long lashes at the marchwarden, and Haldir turned to water, “Please, just give us a head start, and then you can go to my father and tell him anything you like.”

Haldir tried his best to look authoritative, but it was no use. Calariel had melted the ice that must have surrounded his heart. “Only for you would I do something like this.” He kissed her forehead, and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Somehow he managed a smile without cracking his face, Legolas thought, and he suddenly felt as if he was interrupting a private moment. But it did not last, and the marchwarden returned just as quickly as he disappeared as he turned back to Legolas. “If any harm comes to her, I will hold you responsible.”

“That seems to be the general rule around here,” Legolas answered dryly, letting Haldir’s threat roll off him.

Haldir ignored the smart comment, and looked to Calariel once more. It seemed like a new thought occurred to the marchwarden as his eyes searched hers, “Will you lead Legolas to the stables?”

“Of course,” she answered, but she seemed confused by his question.

Haldir addressed Legolas again, “Will you give me just an hour before you set out?”

“I think I can do that, but why?” Legolas asked.

“Just take your time preparing to leave. In an hour ride out of the main gates and go south. I’ll find you,” Haldir said, but he looked at Calariel with his answer. Without hesitation, he walked away.

Legolas watched him a moment, then to Calariel he asked, “Do you suppose he’s gone to warn your father?”

Calariel shook her head, “No, he would not do that. But to be honest, I have no idea what he is up to. Perhaps he means to go with us?”

“I’d rather he didn’t. I’m sure he has the best intensions, but as a captain in your army, he could be severely punished, and I would not like to see him loose his ranking.”

“Haldir has always been devoted to Lórien and the Lady Galadriel. He would not put himself in jeopardy, at least I don’t think he would,” she said, wondering herself, what Haldir was up to.

They did as Haldir said and took their time getting ready to leave. Calariel made sure to take her protective armor as well as extra knives, her bow and a sword that she wore at her side. She looked at Legolas in his tunic, leggings and Rohirric cape with nothing more than a simply made bow, two long knives, and no armor at all. “Is this what you wear to battle? It’s lacking in protection, don’t you think?” she chaffed.

“I don’t plan on getting injured,” he countered jokingly.

“No one ever does.” Calariel gave him a smile, and Legolas felt his heart warm. There was something interesting about her, a kind of maturity that he had never seen or felt with any of the women in his life. Well, he thought, she is an elf and much older, certainly older than him, and he wondered about her age. There would be plenty of time for small talk along the way to Helm’s Deep, so save it for the journey, he told himself.

At last, they exited the main gates, and to Legolas’ surprise, no one questioned why Calariel was leaving with him. Not wanting to draw any extra attention, Legolas remained nonchalant, and they rode slowly and further away from the gate.

Just as he’d said, Haldir showed, but he was not alone. There was a group of about fifty elves on horseback, packed and dressed for war in full Galadhrim attire. Legolas could feel himself begin to panic. It seemed that Haldir would not let her go after all, and he had come with reinforcements. He rode ahead to confront Haldir. “I do not want any trouble with you or your men. Calariel can remain here if—”

“We are not here to cause any trouble with you, Prince Legolas,” Haldir said graciously.

Legolas was confused by how he was addressed. No one had spoken his official title, and he felt he hadn’t done anything to earn it yet either.

“What is this, Haldir?” Calariel asked.

“Legolas and I spoke earlier,” Haldir said, nodding to Legolas, “And I think he will understand this gesture. These men have agreed to go with you to Helm’s Deep, despite Lord Celeborn’s orders not to send aid.”

An elf that Legolas had met back at the river when he first arrived, stepped forward. This was not Orophin, who escorted him to the city, but the one who remained at the riverbank, Haldir’s youngest brother. He bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart, “There are some of us who, like Calariel, never agreed with the decisions from long ago. Our hearts have weighed heavy ever since learning of Mirkwood’s destruction. We were ready to fight alongside your father then, and we are ready to fight at your side now.”

“My brother, Rúmil,” Haldir introduced. “Legolas, we agree with you about vanquishing evil, for we cannot see how we will find peace in Valinor if we do not help the race of men. We must have purpose upon these shores or we would not be here now. So, I am sending Rúmil, along with the others, to Helm’s Deep with you and Calariel.”

Calariel moved her horse forward to join Haldir, “Are you not coming also?”

His face softened and his grey eyes danced with admiration once again, as he spoke to her, “My dear, I would surely be reprimanded for disobeying Lord Celeborn, and I have been a leader and a soldier for so long that I don’t know how to do anything else.”

“But what about your brother?” Legolas asked, concerned for the outcome of these volunteers, should they live to return to Lothlórien.

Rúmil answered for himself, “I am a strong soldier, and a fierce warrior, but it has never truly been my passion. I will risk whatever Lord Celeborn decides to do with me if I return.”

Haldir reached up to where Rúmil sat upon his horse, grasping his arm and squeezing hard, “Not if, dear brother, but when. Now go, the lot of you, before the guards become suspicious. I will give them a story of some kind to divert their attention for a while, but it won’t take long once they know you have not returned.” As if he knew she was about to say something, Haldir looked at Calariel, “Don’t worry for me. All will be well. Keep safe and may the Valar watch over you.”

“Thank you Haldir,” Calariel said sincerely, and she bent down to give Haldir a kiss on his cheek.

“Let’s be off,” Legolas said, and Rúmil led the way south through the forest, slipping away without question and off towards war.


	34. Helm's Deep

They rode along at a determined pace, Legolas, Calariel, Rúmil, and the gift of a small army. The horses were their only reason for the rest. The elves could go for days without it, especially when time was of the essence. It was as good a spot as any. There was a small stream where the horses could drink, and the elves could replenish their water skins. As it was early afternoon, Legolas decided they would stay until sundown, and then be on their way. He had spoken to Rúmil about the Rohirrim, the layout of Helm’s Deep, and what they might find upon arrival. Supplies would be scarce, but he hoped weapons would be plentiful. After all, Gríma had sent all the blacksmiths to the Hornburg as part of his plan to disarm and weaken Edoras. Fool, Legolas thought to himself, for thinking Rohan would not take refuge at the Deep.

Legolas told Rúmil about coming across Aragorn and Gimli on the open plains of the Riddermark, and of how he went with them to Fangorn Forest.

“You have met Estel … Aragorn as you call him?” Rúmil said excited with curiosity.

“Yes, and he should be at Helm’s Deep with the others by now,” Legolas answered. There was an obvious concern for this man. “You know him too, it seems.”

“He lived in Lothlórien for a season. It was then that he pledged his love for Lady Galadriel’s granddaughter, Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond of Rivendell.”

Legolas immediately thought of Eowyn and her infatuation with Aragorn. He hoped she would not be too disappointed to learn of this betrothal, and wished that he could be there to give Eowyn any comfort she might need. “He is a good man, your friend Estel, and an important one.”

“Very important,” Rúmil responded quietly.

“He told us of his heritage and his right to take up the crown of Gondor. I knew him only briefly, but I saw his devotion to those who trust him and would follow him,” Legolas said, and he started to hand Rúmil a cup of fresh brewed tea.

Just then, Calariel came and joined them. Rúmil refused the tea, “Perhaps the lady would prefer it. I have a few things I must attend to. Calariel, take my spot by the fire.” Rúmil stood from the fallen log that he and Legolas were using as a seat and gestured for Calariel to sit.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

Rúmil smiled and bowed, “By all means, my lady.” He went to join his men as they checked over the horses, making sure they were ready for the remainder of their travels.

Legolas thought Rúmil left rather abruptly, and he wondered if Calariel had something to do with it. No matter, he was glad for her company. He handed her the tea and she thanked him. She took a sip and paused. Legolas laughed, “You have obviously never tasted Rohirric tea before.”

“No, I think I would have remembered such a … strong flavor,” she answered, and she sniffed at the steam rising from the cup. “What is in it?”

“Pine needles from a White cedar tree. I found a stand of them not too far back, and I scooped up a handful as we passed,” Legolas said and took another sip. “It would be better if we had some honey.”

“I’m not so sure honey would do much to make it better,” she said wrinkling her nose.

“It’s an acquired taste, and when you are out on patrol, it’s better than nothing. Wintergreen is another one. You might have liked that better, but I did not see any shrubs in this area. They are not as common as other plants and trees.”

“You know a lot about living off the land,” she inquired, setting the cup on the ground.

“Don’t you?” he asked, “I mean, as a member of the army, you go out on patrol.”

“Yes, but we have barracks scattered around the outermost areas. Well, they are more like small huts, but they give us shelter and keep our food supply dry. I guess the Rohirrim are a bit more … rustic in their methods.”

“To be sure, we don’t have the luxury of huts, though now that I think about it that would be much better. Camping out in the open with a group of men is not exactly an ideal situation. For one, they are loud, even in their sleep. And they are smelly,” he said making a face. This made Calariel laugh, and Legolas noticed how lovely it sounded.

“I would think growing up around men, you would get used to it,” she chuckled.

“There are some things that no elf should have to get used to,” he remarked with a warm smile.

For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Legolas held her there, but as he blinked, he turned his head to the side, breaking the contact. He remembered the way Haldir looked at her, how she reacted to him as she gently touched him. But something wasn’t quite right, and Legolas wondered what their relationship was. He found himself continually growing interested in Calariel, but not if she was promised to the marchwarden. Now, to start a simple conversation and find out more about them.

“So, why do you think Haldir helped us?” he asked, “He’s taken a big risk in sending these men. It could end up costing him everything.”

“Haldir has always helped. That’s just who he is. Ever since I’ve known him, he’s been there.”

“And you don’t think it’s because of his affection for you?” Legolas asked, feeling as though he might be too pushy.

“Haldir … interested in me? Don’t be foolish,” she countered.

“Only a fool could miss the telltale signs, the way his eyes shine in your presence or the softness in his voice when he speaks to you.” Instantly, he regretted his words. “I … I didn’t mean to say you were a fool,” he stammered.

Calariel bowed her head, looking down into the abandoned cup at her feet, “No, you are right. I’ve known for a while about his pining. I’ve just tried to ignore it.”

“So you don’t return the same feelings then?” Legolas asked hopeful.

“I like Haldir very much,” she said defensively, “He has been there for me more than anyone. If not for Haldir, I would never have joined the army. You see, when my mother followed the calling and sailed, my father became very overprotective of me. He had a much different idea of what my future would be like, and being a soldier definitely was not part of it. But ever since I could remember, I’ve always had an interest in weapons and strategies for fighting. When I finally built up the courage to tell my father what I wanted to become, he just laughed and said what a ridiculous notion it was, that I would one day make some lucky ellon the happiest elf in Middle-earth, bare his children and be the most wonderful mother.”

“The good little elleth, safe and sound,” Legolas laughed, repeating her words from an earlier conversation. “And I suppose Haldir talked your father into believing he would be that lucky ellon.”

His comment seemed to anger her, as tension built between them. She gave him a hard look before answering, “It was nothing like that at all. Haldir saw my potential and became my mentor. He took it upon himself to train me, and when he felt I was ready, I went back to my father to prove to him that I could be a good soldier. When my father still would not listen, it was Haldir who convinced him to let me become a member of the Galadhrim army. I owe a lot to him.” She stopped and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, “I owe him a lot, but the one thing he seeks, I cannot give him. We’ve never spoken of it, but I know of his feelings for me, and I think he knows that I could never be more than a friend to him.”

Legolas could sense the difficulty that she must have had to endure. He found himself feeling sorry for Haldir, his heart trapped in love for someone he could never have, “Haldir is a good ellon. He has a good heart, and something like that does not go unnoticed. I’m sure he will find the right person someday.”

Calariel gave Legolas a small smile in appreciation for his understanding. Then she reached down for the cup and brought it up to her nose once more. It still had no appeal and she seemed disgusted by the wild tea, “Uh, do you mind if—”

“No, of course not. You won’t hurt my feelings, if that’s what you mean. Just toss it,” he said giving her permission to dispose of the rest of the drink.

Calariel twisted at the waist and poured the remainder of the tea behind the log they sat upon. When she came back around, she started in with her own line of questioning, “What about you? Is there someone special in your life?”

Legolas took another sip of his own tea. Maybe she was right. It definitely had a much fouler taste than he’d remembered. He used the moment to think about his answer, “There was someone a long time ago but . . .” His words trailed off. He never liked revisiting his ghosts, and Lúta was one that made regular stops.

“Was she human?” Calariel asked.

“Yes, and that was part of the reason why it did not work out well for us. We were both very young too, and I hadn’t considered what it would mean to attach myself to a mortal. I’d never given much thought to my immortality, not while growing up around others who were my own age.”

“That must have been very difficult for you, being raised amongst the human race,” she wondered.

“Well, it was all that I had ever known, and they always accepted me as one of them. I never thought of it as being difficult. It’s just the way things were … are.” He finished off the last of his tea, abandoning the last swallow where bits of pine needles had come to rest, and continued. “Actually, you were the first elf I’d come upon since leaving Mirkwood with my uncle.”

“I remember you telling me about that time, when we first met in Fangorn Forest.” Calariel regretted bringing up the time of her injury.

“Oh yes, I had to do a lot of the talking then. Sorry if I bored you with all my one sided conversations, you know, since you could not speak,” he said with an accusatory tone.

“I couldn’t, not at first,” she convinced. Then her eyes turned to the ground and her cheeks tinged pink, “And then when the poison finally wore off, and I began to make the connection with you and the sketch of your mother, I … well, I just couldn’t … I—”

Legolas laughed to himself. He’d made her suffer enough, “It’s alright. I’m not upset. I would have done the same thing, I think. And it was kind of nice getting to know you the way we did, despite your injuries and all.”

“Yes, it was nice,” she said softly, meeting his eyes once more.

The connection seemed to fuse their attention to one another, and they felt themselves drawing in towards each other. Legolas thought she was very lovely, with her brown waves cascading over her shoulders, and her full lips that were now parting. He wondered if those lips were as soft as they looked, and when she leaned towards him, he thought he might finally get his answer. She was so close now, close enough that she started to close her eyes in anticipation of the kiss that was to come. And just as they were about to find out something new about each other, Rúmil came running up, calling out to Legolas, a sense of urgency in his voice. The spontaneity of the moment was gone, ruined and never to be found again, at least not this day. The elves sat up straight, each in their own personal space again, as Rúmil approached. Legolas could tell right away that something was amiss.

“Our scouts have spotted a very large army, Rohirrim by the looks of their armor,” Rúmil said.

Legolas was instantly on his feet, “Where?”

“Riding south on the other side of the plain. They head in the same direction as us.”

“It’s Gandalf!” Legolas called out, “He’s found Erkenbrand and is bringing the army to Helm’s Deep.”

“Should we follow them?” Rúmil asked.

Legolas gave him a wide grin, “Follow? Ha, no! We will join them. Everyone gather your things. We’re going in with the Rohirrim.”

Scouts rode ahead to catch the Rohirrim army before they got too far, so they could tell them about the elves wishing to join the cause. Legolas and Rúmil rode out front of the others, sparing nothing as they sped out over the plains. While the others rode only because of their orders, Legolas rode as if he were going home. What a great joy it would be to be amongst the soldiers of the Riddermark, especially after his awkward reception in Lothlórien. Funny, he thought to himself, that even after quickly earning the trust and respect of a few Galadhrim, it was still the humans who made him feel most comfortable. Even the thought of seeing Gimli was more welcoming than meeting with Lord Celeborn again. He was sure that after the war, he would have to confront the Lord of Lórien again, perhaps explain why he allowed this group of rogue elves to ride with him into danger. “Béma willing, that there should be some amongst us to return to their golden woods,” he prayed as the group of elves slowed their horses. The Rohirrim had obviously received word from the scouts, as it seemed the elves were closing the distance. While deep in thought and prayer, Legolas hadn’t noticed Calariel riding next to him.

“This is not the first time that I have heard you speak to Oromë. You even call him by the name that the Northmen gave him,” she commented.

“And why shouldn’t I? The Valar are known by many names … by many different races, but they all speak to the same being,” he said defensively.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just my observation. It’s part of what makes you so different from any elf that I’ve ever met.” She paused, trying to hide a smile that escaped the corner of her mouth, but Legolas had already seen it. Instead, she owned up to her feelings and added, “I like that.” Without waiting for a response, Calariel slowed her horse and fell back with the other elves, knowing Legolas could not follow her. He must ride out front with Rúmil, and be the first to meet with the Rohirrim army.

His luminous glow could not be mistaken for anyone other than Gandalf. Though he did not know the wizard well, Legolas could not help but feel relief at seeing him. As he approached, Legolas’ smile widened. Now, Erkenbrand had seen who rode towards him and he broke away from his army to personally welcome the elf.

Both elf and man dismounted and embraced, as was common amongst the soldiers. Then Erkenbrand held him at arms-length and checked him over with a curious eye, “Traded in your armor for elvish clothes, I see.”

“Still a Rohir in my heart, though,” Legolas smiled in return. “It is so good to see you. Gandalf has told you?”

“About everything,” Erkenbrand answered without waiting. “Have you heard anything from Eomer?”

“I’ve received no word,” Legolas said. The fact that Erkenbrand was asking meant that he’d not heard anything either. “I just hope they made it to the stronghold in time.”

“Gandalf feels very confident that they did, and he is a wizard.” A bit of humor coated Erkenbrand’s words, “So what’s not to believe, huh?”

“What about Saruman or his orc army?” Legolas asked reluctantly.

Erkenbrand was silent too long before he answered. The humor left his tone. “We have seen signs of their advancement, though we have not seen the orcs themselves, a wake of destruction scattered here and there. I fear Helm’s Deep is already under attack.”

“All the more reason for our haste,” Gandalf broke in. Then he looked at Legolas and the group of elves waiting in the distance, a smile growing on his old weathered face, “I see you have been to Lothlórien. Making new friends, are we?”

“You could say that, though not all were as welcoming as I would have thought them to be,” Legolas said, and Gandalf seemed to know what he meant by that statement.

“All in good time, Master Elf,” said Gandalf, and his tone was comforting.

Rúmil and Legolas spoke briefly with Erkenbrand. The details of their attack were shared with the rest of the Lórien elves. It was safe to say that Helm’s Deep was already under siege, but that the war certainly would not be over so quickly. They held out hope that what manpower they had had kept the enemy at bay. Erkenbrand’s men would attack from behind the orc army, and cut their way through until they reached the main gates. The Lórien elves were a welcomed site to the Rohirrim. Their skilled archers would give them some advantage as they approached the enemy. Once a plan was in place, they set off once more, riding swiftly into the night, towards Helm’s Deep.

* * *

There they stood, at the edge of a steep slope. Dawn was fast approaching, as the stars flickered and went out one by one. The sky began to lighten in the east, a slow glow over the distant horizon. And then the first sign, a speck of fire that rose until the curve of the sun was recognizable. The first rays of daylight would be their cover.

The scene below was enough to make every heart in the army stop beating briefly. The valley was a sea of black, alive and moving … orcs. The smell of smoke and blood rose on the air. Fires burned here and there. A cacophony of orc’s grunts and human voices produced the song of this battle. And the last vestiges of night gave way to the day, making the scene below become clearer to everyone’s eyes.

“Look,” someone yelled, “The Deeping Wall has been breached.” There was a huge piece of the wall missing, and people fought in the stream that flowed into the stronghold. Legolas trained his hearing onto that one particular place, and could have sworn he heard the grumbling curses of a dwarf.

“And the main doors have been attacked. The orcs have penetrated the outer courtyard,” informed another man. A massive battering ram sat abandoned at the broken doors.

“They will have taken refuge in the Keep,” Erkenbrand said to no one in particular, “We’ve come just in time.”

Legolas looked to Gandalf, finding him watching the sunrise instead of looking out over the valley below. He was waiting … waiting for something to happen. Meanwhile, the men were waiting to see what the wizard would command.

“Gandalf?” Legolas whispered as he came to stand next to him.

Gandalf turned to Legolas, and with a smile spoke as though repeating something he’d said before, “On the first light of the fifth day, at dawn.”

Just then, a beam of light broke over the edge of the drop where they all stood. It touched the top of the great tower, and suddenly the deep bellowing of a horn could be heard. There was a new disturbance at the main gate, and along the causeway that wound its way to the fortress. Orcs were falling from the stone road as someone or something parted its way through the sea of creatures. Sunlight had now illuminated all of Helm’s Deep, and it was beginning to spread its way across the valley. That’s when Legolas recognized who it was that fought out of the fortress. King Théoden riding out to meet the enemy, along with Eomer and Aragorn, were cutting through the orcs, making their way down the causeway.

“Rohirrim!” Gandalf commanded, his voice ringing out for all to hear, “Go to your king!”

“To the king! To Théoden! Ride Eorlingas!” Erkenbrand called, and the army charged down into the valley below.

Legolas was about to charge with them, when he noticed the hesitation of the elves. These commands were for the men, but who would the elves ride to. And that’s when Legolas looked again and saw Aragorn riding at Théoden’s side. “We ride for mankind, but also for the one that will bring peace to all … to Estel,” Legolas called.

“We ride for the Prince,” Calariel answered, “And for the avengement of Mirkwood.”

Legolas was completely taken aback as the other elves called out in agreement with her. They were not here to fight for mankind. Men would carry on. These elves were here for Legolas, to right a wrong done to him and his people when Thranduil’s call for help was ignored. And so it had started, he thought to himself, the first stirrings of an army, of a rebirth of his home, and of his right to claim the throne of his abandoned home.

With bows at the ready and arrows finding their targets, the elves charged down into the valley, fighting alongside the Rohirrim, cutting their way onto the field of black, and leaving in their wake a trail of dead and dying orcs. The sun blinded the creatures, and those still able to run were fleeing towards a forest to the north end of the valley.

Legolas had never been to Helm’s Deep before, but he’d seen enough maps and layouts to know that there was no forest in this area. The closest trees would belong to Fangorn, but— and then it dawned, “Ents,” he said to himself.

The fighting was too close for his bow, so Legolas switched to his knives, hacking and cutting through the orcs. Arod was the perfect steed, crushing any who got under his feet. His sharp hooves cut many throats, spilling the black blood of their enemies before him. Soon, they found themselves in the company of Eomer and some of his men.

“You’ve made some new friends?” Eomer chaffed upon seeing his adopted brother again.

Legolas was so caught up in battle, he’d almost forgot that they followed him. He was used to fighting alone, not with an elvish army, and definitely not as a captain of sorts. The fighting seemed to be wavering off as more dead orcs littered the ground, giving Legolas a moment to make introductions, “Calariel, Rúmil, this is Eomer son of Eomund, sister-son of King Théoden, and a Marshal of the Riddermark.”

Eomer bowed to his new company, “We thank you for coming in our darkest hour, but I’m afraid we’re not out of danger yet.”

“What’s happened,” Legolas demanded.

“Eowyn and the other shieldmaidens are in the caves with the women and children. The enemy has broken through to that side of the fortress. We are on our way there now. Théoden has already gone, along with Grimbold and his men. We can’t let the enemy get into the caves. They’ll all be trapped.”

“Let’s go then,” Legolas agreed. “To the caves,” he called to his fellow elves.

The rubble in this area had left the ground too dangerous to navigate by horse, so they all dismounted and made their way by foot, going past the ruined place in the wall. “What made this?” Legolas asked.

“It was an explosion of some sort, like nothing I have ever seen before,” Eomer answered, “Some kind of dark magic conjured up by Saruman, no doubt.”

“Aye, ye big smelly beast. My ax between your eyes will be the last thing ya see,” shouted a familiar voice. Legolas looked towards the stream that flowed through the broken wall, and saw Gimli fighting with a particularly large Uruk hai, a creature bred for war, much more ferocious than any orc or goblin.

Legolas called to his company of elves, “Go with Eomer. I’ll be along in a moment.” Then he broke away from them, raised his bow and fired a single arrow into the creature’s neck just as Gimli’s ax embedded into its head. He wasn’t able to get out of the way in time, and the dead Uruk fell onto him, trapping the dwarf beneath its massive body as well as under water. Legolas ran to the dwarf’s aid, pushing the lifeless body off. Gimli lay in the water, arms and legs thrashing. The heavy mail he was wearing weighed him down so he couldn’t get up. Legolas reached out with his hand, and Gimli grabbed it before he even knew what or who he was grabbing. He calmed himself as he sat up, and looked up into the eyes of his new elvish friend. Gimli’s eyes flashed with relief and joy at the sight of him, then just as quickly they turned to scorn, “What are you trying to do, drown me?”

“I’m saving your life,” Legolas argued, though he could tell that Gimli was just as happy to see him as he was to see the dwarf.

“I can save my own life, thank you very much,” Gimli complained as he stood up. “I don’t need some pointy eared elf’s help.”

“Suit yourself, but it was my arrow that killed him,” said Legolas, kicking the dead Uruk.

“It was my ax buried in his skull that killed him,” Gimli retorted, “Just as it has killed every other foul thing that’s come at me tonight.” Gimli stopped and looked past Legolas, seeing the company of elves following Eomer, and recognized their Galadhrim uniforms instantly. “Ye rascal, you ran off without me.”

“I had to do this on my own. Besides, you would have only gotten in the way,” Legolas said with an arrogant smile.

“Only gotten in the—” Gimli repeated and shook his head to keep from tossing any insults at the elf. “And just what have you been doing while I’ve been here killing these blasted orcs?”

“I’ve been fighting my way through this mass of filth to see that you and the rest are still alive.”

“Do ye think I can’t defend myself?” Gimli argued, “Because I’m sure my list of kills is much longer than yours.”

“Is that some kind of challenge?”

“Call it evening the score for what you did to me back at the tavern. No one outdrinks a dwarf.” Gimli narrowed his eyes and glared at Legolas, “Whoever has the most kills from now until the end of this war wins.”

“Wins what?” Legolas asked.

“Wins the right to say he’s the winner.”

Just then, an orc ran out from behind a boulder of broken wall. Legolas nocked an arrow and shot before Gimli could turn his head to see what was happening. Then Legolas laughed and counted, “One to nothing, Master Dwarf. I’d say that’s a good start.”

Gimli made some kind of frustrated grunt that only a dwarf could make and slogged out of the filthy stream. He nodded in the direction that he’d seen Eomer leave, “Where are they going?”

“To the caves,” Legolas said, “Ready to start counting?”

Gimli didn’t answer, and instead gave a grunt of approval. But as they were about to leave, he stopped Legolas by grabbing his arm. The bantering turned to sincerity as he looked at the elf, “I’ve still got it you know, the book, safe and sound.”

Legolas had all but forgotten about that, with everything else that had happened. He bowed his head, turning it to the side, “I wouldn’t have left it if I didn’t think I could trust you to keep it. And I wanted you to know that I would return, that I was not abandoning anyone.”

“I know,” Gimli said so softly that Legolas almost couldn’t hear, “But you did not need to do that. I knew deep in my heart that you would be back.”

 

“Thank you … Gimli.” It had become their way, to call each other by name when they were being open and honest … and friends. “Now, let’s go kill some orcs.”

Gimli gave a thrilled laugh as they ran off to find the others at the far end of the Deeping Wall, arriving just in time to join the fight. Legolas had collected a fresh supply of arrows on his way there, and was now firing upon the orcs. Gimli’s ax had dismembered quite a few orcs, leaving a trail of body parts in his wake. He kept a running total, calling each kill’s number aloud so Legolas would know the constant tally. Legolas counted silently to himself, keeping up in numbers. They made a ferocious pair.

They had worked their way inside, close to the cave’s entrance. Legolas could see Eomer and a few of his men clearing orcs away, and then he heard the shrill war cry of a woman scorned, angry, and at the end of her patience … Eowyn. Legolas felt a brief moment of relief to know she was alive, but she was under heavy attack where the orcs were thick at the entranceway. Eomer was there a moment later, cleared a way and went into the caves to help her fight the few orcs who broke through.

Gimli’s short stature could not see as far, and he still counted as he continued fighting. Between firings, Legolas glanced around, looking for the Lothlórien elves. They were spread out along the ground, keeping any more orcs from climbing the stairways that led to the Deeping Wall, and therefore keeping a new wave of orcs from entering the caves.

“Gimli!” Legolas shouted, and pointed to over the wall to the ground.

“That’s where we’re needed then,” Gimli answered and sprinted off down the stone staircase.

Legolas remained on the wall, shooting orcs from above, and that’s when he spotted her, Calariel. She had gotten separated from the others, and was fighting two large Uruk hai alone. The beasts took turns swinging their scimitars at her, which she managed to dodge or deflect their blades. Legolas’ first instinct was to run to her, but he knew he had the better vantage point. Even from here, he could see the Uruks wore heavy armor, but as he’d learned earlier, they had a vulnerable spot at the neck. He fitted his arrow to the bow, pulled back the string and aimed. The arrow embedded deep into the Uruk hai neck, and the creature fell motionless to the ground. Calariel glanced up to see who it was, and found Legolas firing from the wall. Not to be outdone, and with one less fiend to fight, she spun, ducked and sliced her sword across the creature’s legs. The Uruk sunk to the ground, and she finished him by slicing his thick-skinned neck. All of this she accomplished before Legolas had a chance to line up a good shot. Then she smiled up at him, wiping her sleeve across her sweaty brow, letting him know that she could take care of herself.

Soon, the orcs were taken over and destroyed. The fighting in other areas had ended. The finishers moved in, those who killed any orcs injured and alive lying on the ground. Gimli went off to find Aragorn, but before he did, he checked in with Legolas for the final tally, “Forty two, Master Elf. What do you have to say to that?”

Legolas bowed graciously, hand on his heart, and a warm smile upon his lips, “It seems you have won, Master Dwarf, for I have only counted forty one.” He waited for Gimli’s bantering, but instead, the dwarf took off his helmet and bowed in dwarvish fashion to Legolas.

“You have proven twice that you are a worthy opponent, but from here on out, I will consider you my greatest ally,” Gimli said.

“I would like that just fine,” Legolas answered, and watched Gimli go off in search of Aragorn.  
Legolas turned back to take a headcount, finding that all of the Lórien elves survived, though many suffered injuries, Calariel among them. He hadn’t known she was standing behind him while he was talking to Gimli. She had acquired a rather nasty cut across her cheek, but ignored it for the moment, “Did the dwarf really outnumber you?”

Legolas smiled sheepishly, and ran his hand over the top of his head, “Let’s just say it was close to call.”

She gave him a smug look, “It’s because you left him behind, isn’t it?”

Legolas had told Calariel about the drinking game and tricking Gimli. He hadn’t told her about leaving the book behind, “He won fairly, but this does seem to even things out.”

Rúmil ran up to them and started fussing over Calariel’s injury, “We need to get you to the healer right away.”

“I’m fine Rúmil. It’s just a cut,” she argued.

“No, no. It needs to be tended to. What will your father say when he sees it,” Rúmil countered.

Calariel was becoming agitated, so Legolas stepped in to ease Rúmil’s worry, “I’ll escort her to the Hornburg.”

She protested, but Legolas gave her a wink to let her know he was on her side of the argument. Calariel seemed to give in, relieving Rúmil, whose next task was to see to the other injuries of the Lórien elves.

Legolas and Calariel made their way along the ground towards the Keep. When they had passed the breeched section of the wall, they climbed the first stone staircase and headed towards the fortress. Their conversation consisted of the battle and their most memorable kills. There was something freeing about sharing this kind of information that only another soldier could understand, but especially sharing it with Calariel.

Once inside, they found the inner courtyard to be in an extremely busy and confusing rush. Soldiers, healers, families searching for loved ones, all were filling the place quickly. Legolas spotted a pile of clean rags, and healers dashing in to grab whatever they needed. He took one, as well as a small brown bottle that he assumed was medicine, and led Calariel out of the area, back to the outer courtyard and near the wall.

“I said I’d be fine,” she protested when he poured some of the yellow liquid onto the rag.

“It still needs to be cleansed,” he said and lifted the rag to her injury. The cut was deeper than he realized now that he could see it up close. Some of her hair had come loose from its braids, and he tucked it behind her ear, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing against her face. Her eyes turned towards his and locked, but Legolas looked away first. He touched the rag to the cut and she winced.

“Ouch!” she complained, but he ignored her. When he tried to bring the medicine to her injury again, she grabbed his wrist.

“I’m only trying to help,” he told her.

“Are you afraid of my father’s wrath also?” she said.

“I’ve never met your father, but Haldir had a few choice words with me before we left, and I think the marchwarden is not one to contend with,” he said facetiously.

Calariel held still and let Legolas clean and treat her injured cheek in silence. When he was almost through, he remarked, “He cares a great deal for you, Haldir does.”

“He always has, but I told you, it isn’t like that between us. He’s just a friend,” she countered.

“I know, it’s just … I can’t help feeling like I’m crossing into—” His words were cut off when Calariel unexpectedly kissed Legolas. It happened so fast, he didn’t have time to register the feel of her lips or the smell of her delicate skin before she was pulling away from him, leaving him stunned into silence.

Calariel’s eyes slowly came up, gazing through her long dark lashes, steadying her look upon him, “It’s not like that with him,” she insisted, emphasizing her words slowly.

“Are you saying it is like that with me?” he asked.

“It could be,” she answered, the corner of her mouth curling mischievously.

“It’s not because I’ve treated your wounds twice and you feel you owe me a debt,” he teased.

“It could be, but in that case I’d have to—” This time Calariel was cut off when Legolas captured her mouth with a blazing kiss. Now he would draw into memory all of the sensations he’d missed the first time, and make sure she could do the same.

They parted, eyes locked upon each other, in a drunken stupor of new emotions and experiences. This seemed like more than a kiss. It was a connection, one Legolas had never felt before, but then everything with Calariel felt that way. He thought it was because she was an elf, and he’d spent most of his life not knowing another of his own kind. It was more than that though, whatever it was, and his heart jumped at the thought of figuring it all out.

“What now?” she asked.

Dangerous question, answered the old Legolas in the back of his mind, the one who acted before thinking, the one that got him in trouble with the blacksmith. He thought he’d only felt that in his head, but something in his expression must have slipped through, because she arched a brow and regarded him questioningly.

“I mean about the war,” she corrected herself. “What will we do next?”

Legolas hadn’t had time to give it much thought. He’d been a soldier all this time, taking his orders and going wherever he was sent. But these thirty elves looked to him as their leader, their captain, and that was something he’d never done before.

“Well,” he started, hoping the plan would form quickly. Of course, he would need to speak to Théoden and Eomer, but there was still unfinished business of his own to attend to. There was one person who hadn’t answered for his crimes, and while Théoden would be out for Saruman’s head, Legolas had another in mind, someone who’d had a hand in all of this. But this was personal. The Lórien elves had no claim to the man who made life difficult for him, who’d set him up, who’d beaten him and ordered his death.

“Legolas?” Calariel called when he didn’t answer, his thoughts taking him a thousand leagues from here.

He brought himself back to reality, but his demeanor had changed, anger tingeing his thoughts, “I must meet with King Théoden. I am still under his command and Eomer’s for that matter. The Battle of the Hornburg has been won, but the war is not over.”

She seemed to become angry at his words, “You forget that you are a prince, that you could rightfully claim Mirkwood as your own. You should not have to answer to anyone.”

“No, not as long as Rohan is still in danger. I am a Rohir until these people are safe from the enemy. Saruman must answer for these crimes, and those who sided with him must answer also. Until then, I am not a prince or an heir to an empty throne.” He turned from her, unable to withstand the disappointment in her eyes, “Perhaps you have called upon me too soon, Calariel. You have heard the stories and seen the drawings. In some ways, I think you know more about me than I do. That is what I still must discover for myself. It’s still difficult for me to think of my father as the king. To me he still seems like that unwavering guard laying his life down for his king.”

“He sacrificed himself so that you could still have a chance of being the king,” she said, “Do you want to keep his last dream from becoming reality?” Calariel moved towards him and laid a hand upon his shoulder, “You must make that choice soon, Laiqalassë Thranduilion.”

Legolas sighed and reached up for her hand, “I know, but not yet. Not until I repay my debt to my adopted people, and not until he is dead.”

“Who?” Calariel asked.

“Gríma Wormtongue,” he answered with vengeance.


	35. A Most Complicated Subject

The battle of Helm’s Deep was over, most of the orcs had been destroyed, and Saruman had been captured, held prisoner in his tower by the Ents. The citizens of Rohan would travel back to Edoras, as well as Eowyn and the other shield maidens. Théoden insisted on riding to Isengard where he would face Saruman and hold him accountable for the attack upon Rohan. Knowing the White Wizard was still quite powerful and dangerous while cornered, Gandalf thought it best to go with the King and his men. Aragorn and Gimli would assist, as well as Legolas, Eomer and other captains of the army. While everyone wanted to see what Saruman had to say for himself, Legolas only had one goal in mind, seeking out Gríma Wormtongue. He had never quite gotten over the fact that Gandalf let Gríma go to return to Isengard. The evil scum had been within his deadly grasp multiple times, and each time he was ordered to let Gríma live. Not this time, Legolas thought to himself.

Some of the army was gathered with the citizens, ready to depart and begin the slow journey back to Edoras. Legolas looked over the crowd, finding Eomer with his sister, giving a few last minute bits of advice.

“Don’t you think I know that already, Eomer?” she was complaining, “For Béma’s sake, my shield maidens and I held off a dozen or more orcs from entering the caves. I think I can handle getting home fairly well.”

“That’s not what I meant. I swear, you can be the most stubborn, thick-headed—” countered Eomer, stopping himself when he saw Legolas coming towards them.

Legolas smiled to himself as he approached the arguing siblings, “Some things never change around here, do they?”

“Legolas, will you tell him that I can take care of myself without the need of a full escort,” she demanded, hands on her hips and scowling at her brother.

“And will you tell her that as long as she is my sister, I have a right to see to her safety,” Eomer answered, returning the same look upon his face.

Legolas walked between them, wrapping an arm around each sibling as he walked towards the departing company of Rohirrim. “I think you should both take a moment to realize that neither of you are children anymore, and that you can each take care of yourselves. But for sanities sake, Eowyn, allow Eomer to give you one . . .” He paused and looked at Eomer, “. . . and only one guard to ride within a certain vicinity of you.”

Eowyn thought for a moment, and then nodded and agreed, “Fine, but I get to choose my own guard.”

“Very well,” Eomer said.

“Good, it is settled then,” said Legolas, satisfied with the outcome. He finished escorting them to the crowd before he released them.

Eowyn started to walk away, but Eomer caught her by the arm, “Just a minute, I want to know who you will choose so that I might have a word or two with him.”

Eowyn rolled her eyes and huffed an irritated breath, as Eomer regarded Legolas again, “We are to meet with my uncle soon. There are some last minute details to discuss before we go to Isengard.”

Legolas bowed, “I’ll go along now then.”

He left Eomer and Eowyn to themselves, turning only to find Rúmil heading towards him. The group of Galadhrim soldiers were waiting in the distance. Legolas and Rúmil bowed heads to each other before they spoke.

“Prince Legolas, we await your orders. Shall we go to Isengard with King Théoden and his men?” Rúmil asked.

Legolas shook his head as he raised his hand, “Please, Rúmil, I wish you would not refer to me as Prince. I … I really haven’t had much time to come to terms with all of this yet.”

“I apologize,” said Rúmil sincerely.

“It’s alright. I guess we all have things to get used to. As for Isengard, I would prefer that you and the others take yourselves back to Lothlórien before the situation of your disappearance becomes any more of an issue with the Lord and Lady.”

“But I assumed that you would be coming with us, and if you are leaving for Isengard—”

“No, Rúmil, this meeting with Saruman does not concern you or Lothlórien. As Lord Celeborn said, this is a matter for men, not elves,” Legolas answered sternly. “Besides, I think my presence in Lórien will not be a welcome one.”

Rúmil started to argue, but Legolas stopped him, “Am I not still in command of this company?”

“You seem to be when it is to your benefit … Sir,” Rúmil answered cynically.

Legolas ignored Rúmil’s irritation, gave a smirk and ran his hand over his head, “Well, I suppose you have me there, but I must insist that you and the company return to Lothlórien … if anything, for Calariel’s sake. Haldir and her father might have my head if they don’t get word soon.”

“I have to agree with you about Calariel, not for Haldir, but for her father. He will not be pleased. Still, Calariel is—”

“Calariel is what?” Calariel herself interrupted.

The two ellon whipped around, caught by surprise. Legolas bowed to his new company, using the gesture to help hide his embarrassment. When he did not answer, she turned to Rúmil for an explanation.

“I thought I felt my ears burning, and here the two of you are talking about me. So … what is it that I am?” As she spoke, one brow rose in question.

“I was just telling Legolas how your father will be … anxious … to learn of your whereabouts,” Rúmil said carefully. In response, all he got was an icy glare, so he excused himself and left her in the hands of the Prince.

Calariel watched Rúmil walk away, and then turned her attention to Legolas, “Well?”

Seeing that he was still in command of the elves, Legolas decided to take his rightful place, “You are to leave for Lothlórien on the morrow.”

“Me?” she questioned.

“You and the rest of the company, of course.”

“And what about you? Are you not returning to Lothlórien?”

“I still have duties to attend to here and with King Théoden,” Legolas said.

“Then I would prefer to come with you,” Calariel stated.

“I’m afraid that is not possible. This matter does not concern you or any of the elves for that matter.”

“But we have sacrificed so much already for you and your cause,” she argued.

“I did not ask you to come.”

“From what I remember you did. Is that not what you asked of Lady Galadriel, aid for Rohan?”

“And I was denied any help, or do you not remember, Lady Calariel?” he said in a defiant tone. “What you and the others did put you all at risk, not only with war but with your positions in your army. I cannot, in my right mind, ask any of you to continue to follow me. If you leave now, perhaps you will still be able to set things right with your commanders, and the damage will be minimal. You must go.”

The argument between them caught the attention of Eowyn and Eomer, who had regulated their own differences. Now they watched the exchange between Calariel and Legolas.

“No!” Calariel defied.

“No?” Legolas said, shocked by her reaction, “You can’t say no.”

“I can and I just did. I am coming with you,” she demanded.

“Then I have no other choice,” Legolas continued, “And as your Captain, I order you to return with the company.”

“Legolas, you don’t understand. We left Lothlórien on our own accord because we believed in you. Who was it that our battle cry was for? Not for Lothlórien, not for Rohan, but for Mirkwood and the return of its Prince. Last I checked, that would be you. So if we have put ourselves at risk, it was because we chose to do so. Now, as for the others, if they decide to return to Lórien, that is their choice, but I am coming with you to Isengard.”

“Why?” Legolas said, now losing his patience.

“Because … because … well, I can’t speak for the others, but as for me, I’m not ready to return home yet,” she admitted.

Meanwhile, Eomer and Eowyn were deeply engaged in the arguing couple. They glanced at each other briefly, and then returned their attention back to the elves.

Legolas’ tone softened, “And why is that?”

“Well, I … I … I don’t know, I just—” she stammered, but before she could come up with a good reason, Legolas grabbed Calariel and pulled her to him. Without hesitation, he kissed her thoroughly. Calariel put up no resistance and kissed him back.

Eomer and Eowyn looked on with stunned faces. “Huh, would you look at that?” Eomer said.

“She’s got a definite strength of character,” Eowyn observed, “I like her.”

“Apparently so does Legolas,” Eomer added.

Legolas released Calariel and the couple locked eyes as they took a moment to catch their breath. “Why, Calariel, why do you and the others choose to follow me? I’m nothing more than a lost elvish soul with no home to call my own. I’ve a different set of values, some of those more human than elf. There are probably a thousand reasons to reject me. I’ve not lived my life according to your laws. Sometimes I’m not sure who I am, and now that I’ve been told my father was a king, I’m … I … I just feel even more distant and alone.”

Calariel took his hand in hers and squeezed, “You are anything but alone, Legolas. You bring hope to those of us who thought there were no other choices. Me, Rúmil, the other elves that followed you here … we have all been taught to think a certain way, to see a limited future while we dwell in Middle-earth. But in our hearts, we feel there is more. Our Eldars have taught us that our real lives begin in Valinor, as though Lothlórien is some kind of temporary refuge. But there are those of us who see and observe, and we think of this as home. We know the pull of the sea will draw us to its shores one day, but we do not long for that time. I think we are much more like you, like your father, and even your mother.”

“My mother?” Legolas asked baffled.

“Do you think she would have risked everything she knew to run away with your father if she didn’t also feel the way the rest of us do? I don’t know what you were taught, but not every Noldor longs to return to the Undying Lands. I think what your parents were trying to do was to build a realm where it was alright to long for Middle-earth, to look ahead, to want to see how its future played out. When Mirkwood was destroyed, our hope was destroyed as well. But you, Laiqalassë, you rekindled the fire in our hearts. We want to help you take back your home, to rebuild it and see you finally sitting upon your rightful place as heir to your father’s throne. I know that is what he would have wanted, him and your mother.”

“I had no idea,” Legolas responded, “For so long I thought no one else felt this way. And when I was finally able to speak to my own kind, I was met with contempt for nothing more than my bloodline.”

“Lord Celeborn and your father never quite saw eye to eye. Celeborn was destroyed when your mother abandoned Lothlórien for Mirkwood. His heart is still deeply wounded, and when he sees you, all of those memories come flooding back. But I know if he just got to know you—”

“No, Calariel,” Legolas interrupted, “He will only ever see my father and what he took away from him. I can never expect to mend any of those hurts. That is not why I went to Lothlórien in the first place. But at least I learned something I’d never known before.”

“And what is that?” she asked.

“As you said, there are those who love these shores and wish to see peace for future generations.”

Calariel smiled and looked down at the ground, “That is good then,” she said. Legolas thought she seemed slightly disappointed with his answer.

“There is something else that I’m glad to have discovered,” he added.

“Oh? What?” she said as she looked up at him once more.

He nodded and smiled as he gently took her dark braid in between his fingers, “You.”

“Sly fox,” Eomer whispered to himself.

Eowyn shoved her elbow into her brother’s ribs, making him flinch and double over, “Come on, and leave them dear brother. Now, as for my ‘guard’, will Aragorn be returning to Edoras?”

Eomer gave his sister a stern look, “Aragorn? Why no, he’s going to Isengard with . . . Wait a moment, what’s this?”

Eowyn blushed and couldn’t help let a small smile escape, “Never mind.” She turned to walk away and spare herself any further embarrassment, but Eomer rushed after her.

“Are you saying that you—”

“I said never mind!” Eowyn demanded.

“No, wait, I’m not trying to tease you. Actually, I think it is a very wise choice to—” Again Eomer was cut off.

“Drop it, Eomer,” she commanded again, and this time her brother did as she asked.

* * *

Rúmil agreed with Legolas that they should return to Lothlórien, but he could not change Calariel’s mind about staying. The Noldo tried to sway her to come home, but she would not budge on her decision.

“Is there nothing you can say to her?” Rúmil asked Legolas when he took the prince aside.

“Do you think I did not try?” Legolas countered. “I know she will only make things worse for herself by not returning to her home and her family. And I am sure I will be to blame for her absence, but you know as well as I that Calariel is very strong minded. Nothing will dissuade her.”

Rúmil shook his head, “She has seen too much of the world outside of Lothlórien, and now it calls to her. I can’t say as I blame her though. I can’t help but feel a bit adventurous myself.” Rúmil glanced to where Calariel stood speaking with Eowyn, and he furrowed his brow in concern, “I will do what I can and speak with her father. Haldir will maybe understand better, but he will not be happy with her decision either. Watch over her, Legolas, and bring her home as soon as possible.”

Legolas bowed, “I will do everything within my power to see her returned safely home.”

Rúmil returned the bow, and went to speak one last time with Calariel. When he was through, he gathered the rest, and the Lothlórien elves took their leave of Rohan.

In the meantime, Legolas and the other men traveling to Isengard had been called upon to meet with King Théoden. He reminded them of Saruman’s betrayal of Rohan, and that they were going there to hold the wizard accountable for the countless deaths and destruction.

“It went far beyond the deception seen in Edoras. His grasp on our city was very strong, so strong that he was able to recruit some of our own men into siding with him,” Théoden explained. “Too long had I been kept in dark dreams while one of our own organized our demise. Because of this, we found the people of Helm’s Deep unprepared, but we are stronger of heart than any race of men. We came together and stood against our enemy, and because of that, we won the battle.”

As Théoden kept on with his speech, Legolas spotted Eomer and went to him, curious about one of Théoden’s statements. “What does he mean when he says Helm’s Deep was unprepared? They should have been more than ready with all the blacksmiths sent there from Edoras.”

“I hadn’t realized you did not know,” Eomer started. “Saruman had people stationed here too. They took over the Hornburg and ruled as the wizard wanted. It was Gríma’s job to send the blacksmiths to Helm’s Deep, and to make the city of Edoras think that they were going there to make weapons. Instead, their equipment was confiscated. No weapon was forged, no blade was sharpened. The blacksmiths were kept under a watchful eye. Anyone caught disobeying their rules was locked away in the underground dungeons.”

Calariel saw Eomer and Legolas talking, and she moved closer to listen to their conversation. She had a feeling that Legolas would keep certain bits of information from her, and she did not like his choice to keep her in the dark.

Legolas’ look of concern at Eomer’s news was easily readable, as he called to mind one blacksmith and his family. Eomer already knew what Legolas wanted to ask, but was afraid to conjure up. “She is safe,” Eomer told him.

“And her father?” Legolas asked.

Eomer was silent as he tried to think of a way to tell Legolas the disturbing news. Instead, he slowly shook his head as his eyes turned to the ground.

Legolas knew something awful had happened and he wanted to know. It would fuel his hatred for his only target, Gríma. “Tell me,” he insisted.

“Lúta and her family made it safely to the Hornburg, but when her father’s tools and equipment were taken from him, he rebelled and was thrown into the dungeons. Like so many of the blacksmiths, they were angered when they learned that they’d been beguiled. Lúta’s father formed an alliance with the other men in the prison, and planned to escape and overthrow the people who put them there. Somehow, their plan was discovered and her father took responsibility to save his men from further punishment. To show everyone their power, Saruman’s men had Lúta’s father executed, as an example of what would happen to anyone who tried to go against them.”

Calariel listened to Eomer’s explanation and wondered who these people were. Then she remembered Legolas mentioning a girl he’d fallen in love with, and realized that this must be who Lúta was. It was beyond her understanding why an elf could allow his heart to become involved with a mortal, but then again, Legolas was not the typical elf.

Legolas stood wordless before Eomer, gazing past his broad shoulder to a memory that only the elf could see. His hands had balled into tight fists until his knuckles turned white. “Where is she?” he said in a low definite tone of anger for the injustice done to Lúta and her family.

Eomer took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “She is here, but—”

Legolas’ resentful ice blue eyes fell upon his friend, “She is here? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“She came with the other refugees before the battle. Legolas, it has been years since you have seen her, and she has—”

“I must see her. I must know that she is alright,” Legolas demanded.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Eomer advised the elf.

“It matters not what you think, Eomer. You will tell me where she is and—”

Upset that Legolas would not listen, Eomer cut him off and said in a raised tone, “She is married now, Legolas!” The elf’s attention was caught, and Eomer lowered his voice to something more compassionate, “She has a husband to protect her and their young son. You should not interfere.”

The elf was taken off guard by this. He didn’t know what to think, but he’d never thought of Lúta moving on. But then, he must remind himself that she was human, and their hearts worked differently. He was disconcerted and speechless in front of his friend, and walked off instead of saying anything. Eomer called to him, but Legolas put up a hand to stop him and continued on.

He found himself in the inner courtyard of the Hornburg where many people had gathered looking for loved ones. The area was very crowded, and he stood still while bodies moved around him. Some people shed tears of joy at learning that a husband, father, son or brother had survived the battle. Others wept in the arms of another, finding their loved ones were gone from the world.

Through the moving bodies, Legolas glimpsed Lúta on the other side of the courtyard. He wished to run to her, for he had not seen her in many years, and it pained him to know the horrible fate of her father. She was older now, a woman, no longer a girl like the one he had last laid eyes upon. Something restrained him from going to her, and instead, he observed through the passing people. She was looking for someone, her fingers weaved together, anxiously twisting. Legolas was reminded of their younger days. He had seen her look like this then, standing under their secret tree as she waited for him. A time or two, he had hidden and watched before going to her. His mind almost tricked him into thinking that she was again waiting for him until he saw a man approach her. Legolas watched Lúta’s face alight at first glance of him. He was a Rohirric man, tall and robust like all young Rohirrim. In an instant Lúta was wrapped in his arms, relief and joy filling them both. Legolas’ heart broke a little more at the sight of them, husband and wife reunited after a long trying battle. Then, Lúta turned revealing a small boy clutched tightly to her skirts. Her husband got down on one knee, looked the boy in the eye and gave a smile. Legolas could see the child mouth the word ‘Daddy’ as he released Lúta and clutched his father’s neck. The man stood, holding his young son and his wife, all three now teary-eyed.

“That’s her, isn’t it… the woman you spoke of,” Calariel said, coming to stand beside Legolas. She had followed him to the inner courtyard.

Legolas did not turn to Calariel or speak, but only nodded in answer. He found that he could not stop watching Lúta, curious about her new life. He needed to know that she was happy, and seeing her with her family confirmed that.

“I am sorry things did not work out for you and her, but you must know that it would never have been accepted by our own kind,” Calariel said.

“She was my first love,” Legolas whispered.

“But she is human,” Calariel said prosaically.

“You say that as if it matters.”

“It is against our laws, Legolas. Humans are here for such a short time. To bind to one of them would mean your fading once she died, whether of sickness or old age. You can’t think that you would have had a happy life with her,” Calariel argued.

Legolas rounded on her, his blue eyes daggered with anger, “And what would you know of it? Have you ever been in love?”

Calariel did not back down from Legolas’ challenge, but stood a little taller as she countered, “Have you ever truly been an elf?”

They were face to face, each one defending their own thoughts and actions. Legolas would never think that his feelings for Lúta were anything but genuine, and Calariel would defend their elvish laws, for that was how things were supposed to be.

Calariel brought her hand up and poked Legolas in the chest as she reprimanded him, “You are a prince, Laiqalassë. Perhaps you should start thinking like one.”

“A prince of what… a realm fallen into darkness… a people all but obliterated?” Legolas took her hand and pushed it away from him, “This is the only life I’ve known. These are the only people I’ve ever loved and respected. I may not know ‘your’ laws, but I know how to be honest with myself and others. I live by the laws of those who have raised me, of those who took me into their homes and their lives, and considered me to be like them. Now, here you are wanting me to change. You want a hero, a savior, and I just want to make things right and live peacefully with those that I truly know. So to answer your question… no, I don’t know what it means to be an elf, but I do know what it means to be an elf living in the world of Men. The Noldor have preached about it for many years. Middle-earth will eventually belong to Men. Well, don’t you think it’s about time we learned to live in their world?

You and your people hide in Lothlórien, waiting to be called home instead of venturing out and taking it all in. Life is so much more enjoyable when you share it with others, even those not of your own race. If we are eventually called upon to leave these shores forever, don’t you think we should first explore the people and the places that will shape the future of Middle-earth? Don’t you want to know what you are leaving behind?”

Legolas paused and looked over to the place where he’d seen Lúta. She was still there, kissing her son’s cheek as his father held him. Legolas no longer felt self-pity for not being in the shoes of the man who claimed Lúta’s heart. Instead, he realized that he was watching the future of Middle-earth unfold right before his very eyes. “If being a prince means giving up my human family,” he said, “then I do not want this position.”

Suddenly, Lúta’s attention turned towards the place where Legolas and Calariel stood, and she saw him. Legolas spun on his heal to avoid eye contact, “I have to go. Prepare yourself for Isengard. We go to meet a most malicious foe. No one will be safe. Saruman is still a very powerful wizard, and now he is cornered.” With that said, Legolas left Calariel in the courtyard, disappearing within the crowd. She watched Lúta a moment, as she searched the crowd for the ghost from her past, but she would not find him. Neither would Calariel, until it was time to leave.

* * *

The morning of their departure had come. Legolas walked slowly to the causeway where he would meet with the other travelers of their company. There he would find Arod as well, ready for the journey to Isengard. He was glad to have this moment alone, and his thoughts took him back a couple of days, when he’d had the confrontation with Calariel. He wasn’t sure what came over him. Seeing Lúta had stirred up old feelings that he thought were well buried. And then Calariel came along. A different set of emotions mixed in with the rest. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her yet. He liked her, found her to be very attractive, a match to his own strength, and comfortable to be with. But sometimes she seemed to be too set in elvish ways, unbending to his own contradictory set of rules. She did not understand the way he thought or the choices he made, when it seemed perfectly clear to him.

He felt bad for the way he had treated her. Neither one was willing to back down from their argument, yet neither one would listen to the other. He would apologize, of course, just as soon as he met her again. He didn’t have to wait long. She came out of a doorway, weapons at her side and upon her back, and a pack in her hand. Her long dark hair was neatly braided away from her face, and her cloak was fastened securely about her shoulders. When she looked up and saw Legolas, she seemed startled and turned from her path. Legolas called out to her, but she ignored him.

“Calariel, wait! I must speak to you. I owe you an apology,” he called.

His words stopped her, but she did not look back. Instead, she waited for him to approach, and before he could say anything more, she spoke, “I apologize too, Legolas. I’ve caused enough trouble and I will not be a burden anymore. I am going back to Lothlórien.”

Shocked, Legolas took her arm and turned her towards him, “Lothlórien? But I thought you were coming with the company to Isengard.”

“I think maybe I shouldn’t.”

“What has changed your mind? If it is about our dispute—”

Calariel looked him deep within his eyes, “It is about more than that. I… I don’t understand you. Here you are, elvish born, a great warrior, heir of royals, but yet you would choose to base your life on the rules of those who are not kin. I have been raised by strict elvish laws. What little I have seen from you would be enough to have you banished from my community. I have given it much thought, but just trying to understand how you think makes me feel as though I will be struck down at any moment. So, perhaps we should just go our separate ways for now. Go with the king and settle this matter with the White Wizard, and when you feel you have paid your debt to Rohan, maybe you will come to Lothlórien again.”

“I thought you were different, Calariel. I thought you wanted to see the world away from the misty realities of Lothlórien. Too long have you sat in your protected realm, safe from war, safe from evil. It is easy to do. I know, for I felt the tranquility that Lórien brought to my mind. But while I felt shielded beneath the wing of Galadriel, I knew my brothers were not, and I cannot sit by while others are at war.”

“But it is not your war to fight. We have been taught not to meddle in the affairs of Men. They will inherit Middle-earth soon enough so they must learn to fend for themselves without the elves. We will not always be there to help,” Calariel argued.

“I don’t understand. You and Rúmil came with me to Rohan. If you think you should not interfere, then why did you come?”

“I’ve told you before, but you do not listen. We came because of you,” she said irritated.

“And I came for Rohan, so in that same sense, you fought for Men, not elves. Do you not see that we are all closely tied to each other? If we do not get involved while we still live on these shores, there is still a chance that Men will fail. Will you let that happen? Will you turn your back and sail, leaving Men to fend for themselves, or will you help cleanse the evil so that human kind will prosper once we are gone?” Legolas took up her hand and gazed down at her long fingers, “I know what it is like to be left to fend for myself. It only leads to death and heartache. I will never abandon anyone who needs my help, human, elf or dwarf. It does not matter. What matters is making this a place for a hopeful future. So, will you come with us to Isengard? Your skills may be needed.”

“I am but only one,” said Calariel, still unsure of her decision.

“So am I,” he answered humbly.

Calariel looked up into his face, his meaning coming clear to her now. She smiled, “Alright, I will come.”

“Good, for I would have greatly missed your company,” Legolas replied.

* * *

Their journey to Isengard had been unchallenged, though they couldn’t help feel as though they were being watched. King Théoden rode out front, Eomer at his uncle’s side. Gandalf stayed to the other side of the king. The king’s captains rode behind him, with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli next in line, while Calariel rode with the other three guards. As they closed the distance to the White Wizard’s realm, Legolas and Calariel slowed and followed at the very back for a while. They spoke quietly to each other, answering curiosities about Lothlórien or Rohan, about the laws of elves and those of men, and how Legolas balanced between the two.

“All I know is what I have read,” Legolas said, “But reading about the laws of the elves is difficult to decipher when laws of men are so solidly placed in front of you.”

“I think I can understand that,” Calariel said. “You tend to adapt to your surroundings and live how they live.”

“Exactly,” he smiled.

“And whose laws were you following when you kissed me,” she asked courageously.

“I was following my own at that point. And since you didn’t stop me or turn away in disgust, then I must have been within my elvish rights,” he jested, “But now you have me curious as to how far those rules extend.”

Calariel regarded him with one brow raised in challenge, “Not as far as you would like. Those activities are frowned upon.”

“Ah, frowned upon being the key word, I see. So, not every elf abstains until marriage.”

Calariel was becoming a bit uncomfortable with the conversation, and she shifted uneasily in her saddle, “Well, no, I suppose there are those who… engage in intimacy.”

Legolas found her modesty quite becoming and decided to push the issue further, “Take for instance… Haldir. I wouldn’t think someone as long-lived as him—”

“I would not know that kind on personal information about the marchwarden,” she interrupted bitterly.

Legolas could see he was taking their game too far. He decided to change the subject quickly, but before he could, Calariel surprised him.

“Have you?” she asked sheepishly.

“Have you?” he answered with a question.

“I asked you first,” Calariel insisted.

Now Legolas squirmed in his saddle, which he suddenly found to be quite restraining. He twisted the reins in his hands and stared straight ahead, “I have.”

“Oh,” she responded, sounding disappointed at his answer.

“And you haven’t?” he asked.

“No,” she countered defiantly.

“No?” Legolas questioned with surprise.

“Absolutely not!” she said offended by his lack of respect.

The silence between them became heavy and difficult to bear. Legolas felt he must apologize for putting her in such an uncomfortable position with his questions. Again, Calariel interrupted his thoughts with her curiosity. She was proving to be very forward.

“Was it… was it with—”

“Lúta,” he answered quickly.

The intolerable quiet returned, giving Calariel a moment to absorb his revelation, and realize just what it must have meant to see the Rohirric woman in the arms of another. “I didn’t mean to invite her into our conversation. I know it must be a difficult subject.”

“The wounds are still fresh, but they will scar over. Really, I don’t know what I expected to find.” Legolas edged Arod closer to Calariel and her horse. He moved forward just a bit so that he could look into her face. “I surely never expected to find someone like you.”

Calariel blushed and looked down at the reins in her hands. She had no words for him. It was just nice getting to know him and his feelings towards her. Then she found her courage and flashed her eyes at him, “I have yet to figure you out, Legolas. You are a most complicated subject.”

Someone up ahead called to the back of the company, and Calariel and Legolas dropped their conversation. Legolas stood in his saddle and gazed ahead. “Isengard,” he whispered.

Calariel looked off into the distance, “The Tower of Orthanc, it is looming in the distance.”


	36. An Act of Treason to the Master

The Tower of Orthanc rose from the earth, dark and formidable. It was black as coal with a sheen like polished onyx, extending considerably into the sky. Its four pointed spires on top resembled something wickedly clawed, and an unearthly sensation of dark magic still clung to the drifting patches of fog and smoke. Legolas was at once ill at ease with this place, and for good reason. Saruman, though defeated, was still capable of dealing damage to any who would sway to his words, or so Gandalf warned the company. The elf knew it to be true, and they hadn’t yet come to its steps.

Gandalf told Legolas how Orthanc had once stood at the center of a lush green lawn dotted with trees and plants. At one time there had been a river running alongside, but Saruman had it dammed, and the land slowly dried and withered. The trees were destroyed and used to fuel the fires that bore forth the armor and weapons for Saruman’s army. Now, the enormous tower sat in the middle of what looked like a lake. The area was flooded where the river took back its home and swallowed up the surrounding lands. Debris floated in the water, and the smell of rotting orc flesh was unmistakable. As the company rode forward, Legolas’ horse whinnied nervously.

“If he’s going to make a ruckus, I’d prefer not to be saddled on him anymore,” Gimli complained.

Legolas leaned forward and patted the grey horse’s neck, whispering elvish to him, “He’ll not throw either of us. Arod senses the darkness that still settles here, even upon the waters that washed most of it away. Do you not feel it also, Gimli? It is quite dreadful.”

“The only thing I feel right now is my stomach complaining that there has been no food yet today,” Gimli replied.

Legolas smiled briefly, but it was difficult to see any humor at the moment, not with the dark tower looming so close.

The company halted at the end of a path. Here stood a gate with a wall extending on either side, overgrown with dead vines. It looked to be the only way in, and Legolas wondered how they would get in if the gate was locked. But at closer examination, he noticed two small child sized figures sitting atop the wall, feet dangling over the edge, and singing some bawdy song. Pipe smoke hazed around their heads as they laughed and sang, barely aware of the company approaching. 

Gimli, stiffened and let out a sharp cry, “Ho there! Is that who I think it is?”

Gandalf, who rode ahead of them, chuckled and called over his shoulder, “You see, Master Dwarf, I told you they were in good hands.”

Calariel had also seen them, and came up even with Legolas. “Are those… Halflings?” she asked astonished.

“They are, Lady Calariel,” Gimli answered, “And two of the most rascally hobbits you’ll ever meet.” He squirmed in the saddle impatiently, “Let me off this beast, Master Elf.”

“These must be the friends you and Aragorn were looking for,” Legolas said as he brought Arod to a halt.

“Indeed they are, and I’ve never been so glad to see them.” Gimli dismounted lacking any kind of grace, and went towards the gate.

Aragorn moved his horse next to Gandalf, smiled, and slowly shook his head from side to side, “I can’t say I’ve ever been so delighted to see these two.”

“I’ve never seen, let alone met a Halfling before,” Calariel whispered to Legolas.

“Neither have I, but they seem like sturdy folk for their size,” Legolas replied as he listened to the two hobbits thoroughly speak of their recent adventures. “And they are quite the storytellers too.”

Eomer joined Legolas and Calariel as they admired the small hobbits and listened to their tale. Gandalf interrupted their story to ask some questions of his own, and the three took counsel together. Meanwhile, Gimli came walking back to where the elves and Eomer waited, carrying something. He raised his hands in the air, displaying his plunder. Gimli chuckled in dwarf-like fashion, and tossed a couple red apples to Legolas. “Rabbit food for the elves,” he called. Then he tossed some kind of dried meat to Eomer, “And salted pork for the men.”

Eomer examined it, sniffed it, and looked down to where Gimli stood, “Where did this come from?”

“According to the hobbits, Saruman had stores of food, drink and pipe weed; enough to last a good long time,” Gimli answered. He pulled more salted pork from beneath his arm, ripped a bite off with his teeth, and chewed satisfactorily.

Calariel looked at the apple Legolas gave her, and then out over the distance of water, “Though they may be good at foraging for food, I doubt your friends could have been responsible for capturing the wizard.”

“Well now,” Gimli answered, “That feat must be credited to the—”

“Ents!” Eomer yelled, his eyes wide with amazement as he caught sight of them walking around the base of the tower.

“That’s Treebeard,” Calariel informed them, “The oldest of the tree shepherds. We met briefly while I was in Fangorn Forest.”

Eomer watched in astonishment, “I know you told me about meeting an Ent, Legolas, and I believed you, but I have never seen one with my own eyes.”

Legolas gave a quick thought to the forest that suddenly sprang up on the outer plains of Helm’s Deep, “Perhaps you have, Eomer, but you did not know it.”

Gandalf appeared, having finished speaking with the hobbits, “The Ents keep watch over the tower where they say Saruman is quarantined. King Théoden insists on speaking to him, so we will all go. Be aware that he is still powerful enough to see into your minds. Though he may speak as though with charity, there is nothing but malice behind his tongue. Do not believe anything he says, for he will try to sway you.” Gandalf turned to Legolas, “Especially you. He puts most of the blame on you for losing control of Rohan and Théoden. Close yourself off to him, and control your anger or he will use it against you. I have seen you at your wits end, Legolas. Do not let your animosity get the better of you.”

Legolas nodded and watched Gandalf go back to the gate, ready to lead the company into the flooded grounds of Isengard. He felt uneasy at the good wizard’s words. He remembered how badly he wanted to cut Gríma’s neck and end his miserable life. And if it wasn’t for Eowyn, he might have followed through with it.

“What happened in Rohan?” Calariel asked quietly as she rode next to Legolas.

Her soothing voice brought him out of his memories, “It is of no concern for now. I will not burden you with my past dilemmas.”

The company slowly made their way to the tower, being careful that their horses did not injure themselves on any of the debris. The water was not deep, which helped the riders see where their horses should step, but it was brown and murky, and full of hazards. They stopped once they reached the foot of Orthanc, shimmering perilously in the sunlight. There they met Treebeard.

“Saruman has caused great blasphemy against Fangorn Forest, killing the very trees that once welcomed him to walk beneath their boughs,” Treebeard conveyed, “We would have dealt him a swift punishment, but for Gandalf. So here he is, locked within his own tower.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Gandalf answered and bowed to the gnarled old tree being. Then he threw off his cloak, revealing his white robes, and held his staff before him, calling Saruman out to take counsel and answer for his crimes.

A door opened on a balcony far up the side of Orthanc, and out walked Saruman, looking somewhat disheveled and worn with worry. His once white raiment was now frayed and dulled to a dirty grey. He no longer projected knowledge and discernment. Hatred filled his black eyes, and Legolas could see Saruman the Wise was lost to the darkness that squeezed his now cruel heart. The wizard tried to hide this part of him, but the company had been prepared for his tricks.

King Théoden spoke first, calling upon Saruman to speak in response to the reasons for his negligent activities. Saruman answered as though honey coated his tongue, asking the King to find favor upon him. Théoden reminded the wizard that it was because of his treachery that Théodred was now lying amongst the barrows of his forefathers, as well as many soldiers and civilians.

Saruman seemed to strengthen with every ounce of hatred that Théoden cast towards him, but Gandalf intervened before things went too far. The two wizards exchanged words for a time. Legolas watched quietly from the back of the company, with Calariel by his side and Gimli saddled behind him.

Saruman’s anger was growing more dangerous with the war of words between the two wizards, when he finally saw his chance to strike. Lightening flew from his fingers as Saruman aimed to destroy all who stood below at the foot of Orthanc’s stairs. It happened so fast that no one amongst the company had time to flinch, let alone take some sort of cover. All would have perished to Saruman’s magic if it hadn’t been for Gandalf, who was only a split second quicker. He raised his white staff and created an invisible shield that protected the company from Saruman’s harmful curse. Saruman’s energy diminished quickly as he used every ounce of it against his bothersome guests. His hands fell to the railing of the balcony, catching himself before he slumped to his knees.

“Saruman, you have become more powerful than I could have imagined, but you use your power for evil, and I will not let you overcome me or my companions,” Gandalf called out. “Surrender now.”

What the company did not know was that Saruman had secretly placed his staff at his feet. It still held within it the ability to deliver the same dark magic as the wizard himself, who was now drained. He continued to look exhausted as he bent down to retrieve the staff.

“You think that I will give up so easily, Mithrandir? I guess from your point of view, it would seem the smart thing to do.” He stretched out his hand and grasped the staff, “But you would be foolish to think I’d ever give up all that I have created here.”

Saruman came back up with the staff swinging outwards, aiming it at Gandalf, but the good wizard closed his eyes and called, “By the spirits of the order of the Maiar, Saruman, your staff is broken!”

Everyone watched as Saruman’s staff exploded into millions of splinters. Saruman, too, was shocked to see that Gandalf had become more powerful than himself. Without the aid of his staff, he was weakened, at least for the moment. He still had a hidden power within his black halls… one of the missing Palantíri, a seeing stone. So far it had aided him in his accomplishments. Perhaps it could be of use to regain his power. But for now, he would have to surrender this round to Gandalf. As he stood defeated, thinking of the best way to resolve his problems, Gríma appeared.

Down below, Gimli was the first to notice Legolas tense as he removed an arrow from his quiver. Since he was quite stout in stature as compared to elves, Gimli had a difficult time seeing past Legolas’ back. He wriggled and leaned out until he could get a clear vision of what had made the elf stiffen. To his surprise, Gimli spotted Gríma slinking out onto the balcony and stand subserviently behind Saruman.

“Easy now, my princely friend,” Gimli said calmly.

Legolas eyed Gríma from the flooded yard. He did not raise his weapon, but he kept it in hand for his own piece of mind. Calariel watched the balcony, but she kept Legolas in her peripheral vision.

Saruman felt the presence behind him and swiveled to see Gríma, but the man searched the company below until his eyes fell upon Legolas, “It is because of him that all of Isengard is now drowned.”

Saruman looked down to where Legolas sat upon Arod and scowled, “Ah, and who have we here? Well, if it’s not the lost one. Such a shame that you have no land to claim as your own. Your title has been wasted on you… Prince,” Saruman said with hauteur.

“Don’t listen to him,” Gimli warned, “He is trying to get into your thoughts and provoke you for his own agenda.”

Legolas found it difficult to control his anger, but he could not let Saruman’s words go unanswered either. “My rancor, though you are my foe, is not solely with you. However, you choose to let that cold-blooded snake take refuge. You aided him with ill-fated charms, and you gifted him with some of your own mind-bending abilities in order to destroy Rohan.” Legolas’ hard stare settled on Gríma, “You are responsible for many crimes against the Rohirrim, but none more appalling than the death of my friend, my brother at arms, and the King’s only son, Théodred.”

“Legolas, don’t!” Gandalf warned, for he knew the elf’s anger was exactly the tool Saruman needed to recharge his power. “He is trying to provoke you. Do not give in to him.”

“No, please… allow him to speak, Mithrandir,” Saruman said kindly. Gandalf had been correct about Saruman’s plan. Dark magic thrived on hatred, and nothing could match the passionate hostility of an elf. Perhaps he could use this rift between Gríma and Legolas to his own advantage. Saruman stepped aside and allowed them to have their dispute.

Gríma stepped forward and took his place at the railing as he addressed Legolas, “You speak as though I delivered the final blow that took Théodred’s life. The truth is, Théodred disobeyed his father’s orders and fought a battle that could not be won.”

“He would not have been there if it weren’t for you and your spells,” Legolas countered. “He was acting in his father’s best interest. We all were once we found you out, Wormtongue.”

Gríma laughed, “And was your only concern for Théoden when you laid with Rota? Oh, how noble of you, to rape a woman in the name of the King.”

From behind, Legolas heard Gimli give a grumble of discontent, for he knew the truth behind the story. But Calariel had known nothing of the unfortunate situation between Legolas and the blacksmith, and she gave a gasp of surprise.

Gríma seemed pleased with her response and called her out on it. “I see the she-elf has not heard this story.”

Legolas glanced sidelong, but did not meet her eyes as he gave a brief explanation, “Rota admitted to her wickedness, and she named you as her collaborator. Just another way in which you tried to ruin me and have me cast out.”

Gríma’s hands grasped the railing as he leaned out and yelled in anger, “You should never have been allowed residence in Rohan in the first place. I should have had you killed as soon as I returned to Rohan. It would have saved everyone their troubles.” Gríma’s hands released the rail and disappeared into his robes. Legolas watched him carefully, bringing his bow in front of him and loosely fitting an arrow to it.

“Remember what I have told you, Legolas,” Gandalf warned. He closed his mind off to Saruman and whispered so soft that only Legolas could hear. “We still might have use for Gríma, if we can get him away from Saruman. He knows much in the way of the enemy and their workings.”

“He does not deserve another chance,” Legolas answered. “For too long I have yearned to get my hands stained with his blood. Death is all he is worthy of now.”

Meanwhile, Saruman was becoming intoxicated by the hatred that was emanating from the elf. He could feel his inner strength returning. The argument between Gríma and Legolas was the perfect distraction. As soon as he was capable, he would deliver another curse and destroy them all, leaving him with only the Ents to deal with, and they were dense and slow-moving.

Gríma could not hear what Gandalf was saying, but he could tell that the wizard was trying to talk Legolas down from doing anything foolish. Besides, he thought to himself, he was too far away for the elf to inflict any harm. Gríma would see him take aim before he could lose his arrow upon him. “I say you take Gandalf’s advice, as you have taken the advice of them all. They seem more than willing to let me live. Perhaps I have not fallen from their graces as you would like, Elf.”

Legolas’ eyes narrowed as he set them upon Gríma, “I regret not killing you when first I had my chance. What a sweet moment of revenge it was to feel my hands wrapped around your neck.” With that said, Legolas lost all control and raised his bow.

The company around Legolas mumbled, some telling him to shoot, others telling him not to. Gandalf was demanding that he lower his bow. Gimli was taunting him to shoot and be done with it. Legolas’ arm pulled back on the bowstring as he made his final decision.

Then, there was the soft touch of a feminine hand upon his shoulder, and all noise disappeared. All he heard now was Calariel’s sweet voice. “This is not our way, Laiqalassë. We respect life, even that of someone as ruined as Gríma. It is not up to you to decide. So please, my prince, do not do this out of revenge. The elves mustn’t use this emotion to aid them. It goes against all that we stand for.”

Legolas heard what she said, and he started to wonder. Was this why he had not killed Gríma yet? He’d had plenty of chances, but each time he had stopped. But the truth was, each time, he had been told to stop, and out of respect he had listened. Now, here he was again, faced with the same decision, and his mind was in a whirlwind.

“Are you so weak that you would submit to them?” said a new voice. It was Saruman, but he was not speaking from the balcony. He was inside Legolas’ mind. “You are not like any of them, remember. You are the last of your species… a wood elf of Mirkwood. You are a savage when it comes to revenge. Think of all that you have lost because no one was there to help save your people or your land. You think these companions here are any different? They beg you to save the one who has made your life miserable. Why? Because they are using you, Legolas.”

“No,” Legolas said defiantly to the voice in his head.

Saruman laughed, “And that is why you let Gríma survive. I wonder what things might be like if you had followed your instincts in the first place. Wormtongue would be dead, and perhaps Théodred would still be alive. Perhaps the Rohirric girl would be your mate instead of laying with another and bearing his children. Think of all the ways your life would be different. Now think of how you can take back what is owed to you. Shoot Gríma and revel in the hatred that you feel towards him. Take comfort in your vengeance. Shoot him!”

“No,” Legolas said again, finding it difficult to refuse such an enticing deed.

“Your father would have done it. Are you not the son of a King? Do it, Legolas. Kill Gríma! Avenge all those who have gone from your life,” Saruman commanded.

Legolas closed his eyes and tried to maintain himself, but all he could see was death and sorrow as Saruman played on his memories. Calariel’s words came back to him, ‘it is not our way.’ But was it his way? Could he truly consider himself the same as her, as all the other elves? He wanted nothing more than to kill Gríma. He always had. He had staked his claim on the worm, telling the others that Gríma was his to deal with. Let them have Saruman… Gríma was his and his alone.

Gríma, who hadn’t known the trickery that Saruman was using on Legolas, called down yet again, antagonizing the elf, “You’ll not kill me now, just as you couldn’t kill me in the past. You will let them choose for you, as you always have and always will.”

Legolas stilled his mind, making his decision at last, “No… no, I am not like other elves,” he uttered, “And now you die, Gríma Wormtongue.” He released the tension on the bowstring and let the arrow fly.

For the first time since becoming a soldier of Rohan, Legolas missed his target. Before freeing his arrow, Legolas’ arm shook uncontrollably, as though he suffered some internal conflict, and his shot went awry.

Gimli allowed a disappointing grunt. Calariel once again gasped in horror as she witnessed Legolas’ transformation from calm reserve to utter vengeance. Emotions were mixed amongst the rest of the company. Those who wished to see him successful were disappointed, and those who trusted that Legolas would be fair were shocked to see him give in to animosity.

Gríma had seen the look in the elf’s eyes just before his arrow flew, and he ducked down behind the railing. He also noticed that Saruman never flinched as the arrow bounced unsuccessfully off the wall of the tower, not but inches from Saruman’s head. He looked up to find the wizard’s eyes fixed on Legolas. He’d seen him like this before when he spoke through the seeing stone. It was a mind power that Saruman used, to speak without sound with the mind instead of the tongue. That’s when Gríma realized that the wizard had never been the target of Legolas’ attack. Was Saruman using Legolas to kill him? If that was the case, Gríma’s life was still in danger. Saruman would have no use for him now that Théoden had taken back Rohan. He quickly devised a plan, one in which he wished to use later rather than immediately.

Legolas looked confused and conflicted. How had he missed? For years he’d waited for this moment and he missed. There was no way to take another shot. The moment had passed. Gandalf moved so that he sat upon his steed in front of Legolas, blocking his aim. His bushy brows were drawn deep with disappointment, but he would not speak. Instead, he turned his horse and faced the tower, looking up at the balcony where Saruman stood, unmoving. Gríma slowly rose to his feet.

“Elf scum,” Gríma called down, “You dare try to kill me? You know not what you have started. You think you have helped save Rohan, when all you have done is aid its downfall. All of Middle-earth will bow once the new power has replaced the old.” Gríma picked something up from the hidden shadows in the corner of the balcony. To everyone’s shock, he lifted the Palantír before him, “With this, not even Sauron is immune.”

Saruman was horrified to see the Palantír in Gríma’s hands,” “What do you think you’re doing with that?” Saruman chided, daggers shooting from his black eyes, “You weak-minded clod! Take it back inside!”

“No, it’s time that they all knew what they were up against. I’ll not hide in your shadow anymore, Saruman,” said Gríma, feeling empowered, but he hadn’t known that the wizard regained partial power.

Saruman’s gnarled fingers darted out, aimed at Gríma, and a static charge hit the man hard enough to make him fall to the floor. The black stone rolled dangerously close to the edge of the balcony, stopping before it fell over, and Saruman was satisfied for the moment.

Gríma slowly came to and got to his hands and knees. But as he stood up straight again, Saruman kicked him hard in the stomach, making Gríma double in pain and fall to a fetal position. The wizard kicked him again in the ribs, then in the thighs, and once more for good measure.

No one cared much for Gríma, but no one could stand to see this simple misguided man be abused. Gandalf yelled, “Enough, Saruman. Your true colors are showing, even to your only loyal servant.”

Saruman stopped, only because he felt he’d administered enough punishment. He glared down at the pitiful heap on the balcony floor, “I should have known better than to think you could achieve any of the tasks I gave you. You are of the same blood as the rest of those horse-fucking degenerates. And now you will stand here and blame the wood elf for your failures,” Saruman scolded. He spit on Gríma, and then turned back to the company of Rohirrim below, anger still prominent in his eyes, “You can keep me hostage within my own home, but you’ll not vanquish me from this world. Go on and run back to your thatched halls, but the war has not ended. As you have seen, I harbor one of the ancient seeing stones, and that you’ll never get from me. Because of that, the Dark Lord will know what you have done here. An attack on Isengard is an attack against him, and he will answer with more powerful armies than you could ever have imagined.”

While Saruman made his threats, he had not seen Gríma slowly get to his feet. No one could have guessed what would happen next, for no one thought Wormtongue would ever perform such treachery against his own master. Even Gandalf was too focused on Saruman to know what Gríma was about to do.

Gríma’s face morphed into extreme hatred for Saruman, as he took slow careful steps towards him. Saruman did not notice and continued his threats. Legolas watched Gríma’s every move. The worm was up to something.

While they all watched to see what Gríma would do, Théoden began speaking to him in a kind and gentle tone, “Gríma, son of Gálmód, you were once a good and honest man like your father. It is not too late. You can still turn from Saruman and leave this place.”

Gríma’s eyes saddened, his anger pushing aside briefly, “But you cast me from your halls.”

“You were not yourself. You still aren’t, not as long as you stay here. Come, Gríma, put these dark days behind you, and take your life back. Rohan is where you belong,” Théoden said.

“He is not going anywhere,” said Saruman, “I own him. He is my servant, and here he shall remain, though he is a useless, weak-minded wretch.”

From behind Saruman, Gríma said through clenched teeth, “Ever have I served you, and I served you well, Master, only to be kicked and beaten like a stray dog. You promised me Rohan. You promised me a queen. I sacrificed everything for you and your cause, but that was not good enough.”

“I gave you all the tools you needed, and still you failed. You deserve to be treated like a dog. That’s the only thing you are good for now,” Saruman insulted. As he spoke, he hardly gave Gríma notice, speaking to him with only a glance over his shoulder, “Get back inside you witless dolt, and stop talking nonsense! You’ve done enough damage here as it is.”

Legolas could see Gríma’s lips moving, but he was too far up to hear his words. The look on his face gave him away though, and Legolas knew he was about to do something desperate. “Gandalf,” Legolas called out. He nodded in the direction of Gríma.

Gríma withdrew something from beneath his black robes. Legolas could tell he held something in his hand, and he focused his keen eyes upon it. There was a flash of silver, and he instantly recognized the weapon’s curved blade and runes.

Suddenly, Gríma’s arm jetted sharply forward towards Saruman’s back. A look of shock suddenly appeared on Saruman’s face. His mouth hung open and his body went rigid. Gríma pulled his arm back and jabbed it forward once again. Saruman let out a cry. The company was confused as to what was happening, but from Legolas’ position, he could see what it was. He brought his bow up once more and nocked an arrow, but Gandalf was still blocking his shot. “Step aside, Mithrandir. I will not miss this time.” He felt his confidence return, and he knew his aim would be true. It was different now. His mind was clear of Saruman’s treachery.

Gríma stabbed Saruman for a third time and began reciting the words of the black speech that would transform Saruman’s powers into Gríma as the wizard’s life faded.

Gandalf looked grim, but allowed Legolas his shot. The elf raised his bow, pulled back on the string, and set his sight on Gríma. Before he released the arrow, he whispered quietly, “For Théodred, my brother.” Then he released his shot. The arrow flew straight and true this time, entering Gríma’s side where it passed between his ribs and impaled his heart.

Gríma’s body went ridged and his hand let go of the dagger that was still embedded in Saruman’s back. He looked down at Legolas as his life left him. The elf, his most hated enemy, was the last thing he saw before he fell in a limp mass of black robes to the balcony floor. Saruman’s body slumped forward and draped over the railing. As he did, his foot nudged the Palantír. The black stone rolled over the edge and disappeared into the murky water below.

“And so ends the reign of Saruman,” Gandalf said quietly. This was not how he wished things to end. Saruman had much knowledge of the enemy. He could have been a useful resource, if Gandalf could have gotten him to talk. Gríma would have known something also. Now, both men were lost to death and despair, and Sauron’s scheme for dominance was still a mystery.

Eomer, who had been by his uncle’s side during all of this, came to Legolas, “It is done.” He may have been the only other person who knew the depth of hatred between Legolas and Gríma. Eomer was not untouched by Gríma’s betrayal either. It had been his uncle that man had put under his control, and it had been Eomer’s sister that Gríma’s greedy eyes followed throughout Edoras. Eomer was a glad to see him gone.

“May Théodred rest peacefully, now that the one responsible for his death has been vanquished. I can honestly say that I am glad it was done by my own hand,” Legolas admitted.

Eomer nodded in compliance, “If not by yours, then I would have seen it done.”

“It would have been much worse, had Gríma followed through with his plans, for I glimpsed the weapon that he used on Saruman,” Gimli said from behind Legolas.

Calariel had remained silent through all of this. She was shocked and confused by Legolas’ actions at first, but now she understood why he behaved as he did. There was no denying that Legolas was different from any elf in Middle-earth. He was greatly influenced by Men and their way of thinking, but he struggled sometimes with his elvishness. She had seen his conflict earlier, and knew why Legolas missed killing Gríma the first time. Perhaps she would speak to him about it later. Right now, she was curious about this weapon they spoke of.

“What of this blade, Gimli?” she asked.

“It has an anomaly,” Gimli answered. “Once the dagger spills blood, the power of its victim transfers to the wielder of the blade.”

“He meant to use it on King Théoden after Saruman was done using him to fell Rohan,” Eomer said, “Gríma wanted control of the Riddermark, as well as my sister, forcing her into marriage.”

“Well, Eowyn is safe now, and so is your uncle,” Legolas remarked.

“At least for now,” said Gimli. “There is still the matter of Mordor to contend with.”

“There is still the matter of Mirkwood also,” Calariel added.

Legolas heard something in her tone and turned to her. She was right, of course. It was not enough to rid Isengard of this evil, or even Mordor. Unless the darkness was destroyed from every realm, Middle-earth would always be in turmoil.

King Théoden gathered the company, after a brief discussion with Gandalf. “We will return to Edoras. Isengard is no longer a threat. Gandalf has informed me that the Ents will know what to do with the land and the tower. Let us take this time to rest and pay homage to those who have fallen. It is the least we can do for our brothers.”

The company prepared for the journey home, taking what supplies they could find. The two hobbits knew where the food stores were and showed the others. Legolas and Calariel refreshed their provisions also. It was during this time that Calariel pulled Legolas aside to speak to him alone.

“I suppose you will go back to Rohan now. It seems like they will need your talents, for war is not over. Sauron will want retribution for what happened here. I was just wondering where that leaves me. I’m not sure Rohan is where I should go. My father and the others will be expecting me to return soon, and no doubt I will have many questions to answer,” she said.

Legolas assumed Rohan would be his destination also, but he took this free moment to gather his thoughts. He glanced around the company, finding Eomer standing with Théoden, who was taking counsel with Gandalf. They were no doubt discussing their next moves. Aragorn and Gimli were reacquainting themselves with their friends the hobbits, Merry and Pippin. The other members of the company were eagerly awaiting their orders, anxious to return home, he supposed. Suddenly, Legolas got the notion that maybe they didn’t need him as he thought they did. “They all seem settled at the moment. They know their course and are prepared to follow it.”

Calariel looked around, seeing what Legolas was seeing, “It seems that you have accomplished what you set out to do. Théoden, Eomer… they are free, and they are well.”

Legolas looked out over the mountains and to the edge of Fangorn Forest, now partially destroyed because of Saruman. Calariel was right… war was far from over. The victory at Helm’s Deep and Isengard was miniscule compared to what lay ahead in Mordor. He could go with Rohan and follow them to wherever they decided to give aid. He and Eomer could battle side by side, cutting down the enemy, but that would only lead him further away from the reality that he must soon face… Mirkwood. It was time to come to terms with his real identity, to take up his role as the last wood elf, and prince of his ravaged home. How he would ever achieve this, he did not know. It seemed like an overwhelming task for one person, and he knew he could not do it alone. Eomer had always promised that he would join Legolas in his fight to overthrow the enemy, but his friend had a responsibility to Rohan. Not even Théoden would agree to send men to Mirkwood during these turbulent times. At this point, everyone needed to do their part. So, if aid could not be expected from Rohan that only left one other place, a place where he hadn’t felt welcome, a place where animosity was strong against him.

Legolas set his eyes upon Calariel, “I must speak with Théoden and Eomer before we leave.”

“We?” she questioned.

“Am I not welcomed to join you on your journey back to Lothlórien?”

“Well… no, I would not refuse your company,” she said, “I just thought you would remain with the Men. You seemed to have found your place amongst them.”

Legolas was surprised by her hesitancy. Calariel seemed skeptical about him, and why shouldn’t she be? Saruman and Gríma had revealed things about his past that he hadn’t shared with her, horrible, unthinkable things that was unheard of amongst the first born. He turned his eyes downward, “I understand if you wish to return alone. I do not want you to feel uncomfortable.”

She gently touched his arm, drawing his attention back to her face, “Why would you think that?”

“Surely you question the things you have heard today, and I would not blame you for thinking ill of me.”

“Legolas, if you think I would take the word of a demented wizard over yours, then you don’t know me well. Besides, I trust that you will tell me when you feel ready to share your past.”

Legolas smiled with relief, “I am glad you feel that way, Calariel, though I am not sure why you do.”

* * *

Legolas asked Calariel to go ahead of him so that he could speak with the members of the company before he set out for Lothlórien. Then he gathered his friends to him to tell them his plans. Aragorn, Eomer and Gimli stood waiting for the elf to speak.

“I have come to realize that my path does not lead me in the same direction as all of you,” he started.

“You’re not coming with us?” Eomer asked.

Legolas shook his head slowly from side to side, “My mind has been plagued with this decision for some time now. There are things I still do not know that I must discover. There are things that must be set right before I can even begin to contemplate my role as heir to an empty throne. I can’t help but feel that the recent discovery of my true identity has been a burden to me. I’m still not sure I believe what Gandalf has told me of my father. And so, I must use this time to sort out all of the things that stand before me. I am apprehensive about my decision, but I think the answers to my questions still lie within Lothlórien.”

Aragorn nodded, for he knew Legolas would find what he sought within the Golden Wood, “The Lady of Light will be instrumental to your search. I think it is a wise choice.”

“It is not Galadriel that I worry about,” Legolas said.

“If it is that pompous march warden that’s giving you trouble, perhaps I should join you. I still have a thing or two to say to that cocky, stiff-lipped elf,” Gimli grumbled.

“Thank you for your concern, but I believe I can handle Haldir on my own,” Legolas answered. “It is a long story, one that I have not the time to tell, but maybe we will come together again someday soon and I shall tell my tale. By then, I hope to have more to share.”

Aragorn stepped forward and extended his hand to the elf. They grasped forearms as Aragorn wished Legolas an uneventful journey to Lothlórien. Then, Gimli came up with heavy feet treading a path. He didn’t speak at first, but eyed the elf through his bushy brows.

“Though we did not see eye to eye when we met, I have come to discover that you are most admirable… for an elf, and I will ever be at your service. I shall speak kindly of you to those that I meet, especially to my own kind, and I will not deny that I am glad to call you friend,” Gimli acknowledged.

Legolas placed his hand over his heart and bowed, “I am proud to call you the same, Gimli son of Gloin, and I look forward to our next meeting.”

Gimli started to step away when he remembered something, “Oh, do not go before you take back the elvish book I’ve been holding for you. I’ve got it in my pack.”

“Maybe you can hold on to it just a while longer. I’ve no need of it for now.”

Gimli cocked a brow at him, “Now, why would I want to trek across Middle-earth carrying your things. I’ve enough to haul around as it is. And besides, I believe there are some things that should be revised, especially some of the descriptions of the Dwarves.”

“Have you been reading my book, Dwarf?” Legolas chided playfully.

“Only the parts that concern my people. So take back your belongings, for I am tired of keeping them safe for you,” said Gimli cleverly. Gimli saw Eomer out of the corner of his eye, and stepped aside.

Eomer stopped in front of Legolas, crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side, “I don’t think I really thought this day would come, at least not so soon. I wish you would come back to Rohan, if only for a short while.”

“I wish that too, Eomer, more than you would know. Rohan has been my home for a long time, and I hate to part ways,” said Legolas sincerely, “But order has been restored to the Riddermark. Théoden is strong once more, and Edoras has a new Marshal of the Mark.”

Eomer laughed, “I guess it would seem odd for an elf prince to be under the command of a Rohir Captain. It also explains why you were not very capable of taking orders.” They both shared in a laugh before Eomer’s disposition sobered. Then he continued, “I always thought we would to go Mirkwood together, but I see how impossible that would be at this time.”

“And I don’t expect you to come, though it would gladden my heart to have you beside me in battle. Alas, you have your people to keep safe, and Théoden and Eowyn as well.”

“True, though once I return without you, I might need protection from my sister. She will be expecting you, and she’ll worry when you do not show. No doubt it will be my fault too,” Eomer jested.

“Point well taken, my friend, but you do not give her enough credit. Watch over her, Eomer. I fear that she pines for one that she cannot have,” Legolas glanced at Aragorn. “He is more than worthy of your sister, but his heart is already promised to another.”

Eomer nodded, and then settled his attention upon Legolas once more. He shook his head in disbelief, “What will I ever do without out my adopted brother? We have been through so much that now I find it difficult to imagine going ahead without you.”

“I feel much the same. Even though I knew this day would come, I think a part of me dreaded it. And here we are at that day.” Legolas clasped a hand on Eomer’s shoulder, and Eomer did the same. “Stay safe,” Legolas said.

“Send word and do not hesitate to call upon Rohan for aid,” Eomer said in return.

“I will,” Legolas said as they released their grip on each other. Then, he went off to speak to Théoden before leaving.

Legolas found the king at the gate giving out a few last orders as the company prepared to leave. Legolas approached, bowed and looked to the king. Théoden smiled humbly, “I can tell by the look on your face that you have made your decision. So, you take to the road that leads to home, and not the home that you are most familiar with.”

“Yes, I’m afraid I must take my leave of Rohan. I just… It’s, well it’s not enough to just say farewell. I doesn’t seem proper to part like this, not after all that you have done for me. The Woodsmen were right to bring me to Rohan so long ago. They saw my potential, and they knew Rohan would be the best place to let me grow and learn.”

“And it has been a worthy experience to watch you come into your own, Legolas,” Théoden responded. “Eomer and Théodred,” he paused at the mention of his son, “They are all the better to have known you, to have grown with you, and to have fought beside you. I hope you know how you have enriched all of our lives.”

“As you have done for me also. I take a part of Rohan with me, for it is deeply embedded within my heart, and it will always feel like home,” Legolas bowed, but as he stood, Théoden embraced him.

“Then take this with you, Legolas, and know that no matter our differences, I am proud to call you son,” the king said softly as he took Legolas’ hand and put a small metal object into it.

Legolas separated from Théoden, and saw that the king was misty eyed. Before he could look and see what Théoden had given him, the king was calling out to his men to ready with the last of the preparations. He turned and went in search of his captains without another glance at Legolas, but the elf understood why. Such was the way of the kings of men.

Legolas finally opened his hand and discovered a brooch made of tarnished silver depicting two horses rearing, facing each other. He recognized it right away. It belonged to Théodred, a gift from his father when he had been appointed Second Marshal of the Mark. Théodred wore it into every battle and at every uniformed ceremony. Legolas hadn’t seen it since his friend last went off to war, thinking it was lost in battle, for it was not part of Théodred’s burial suit. Théoden must have kept it, one last thing to remind him of his late son. It was priceless, Legolas told himself, and something he would always treasure.

With his farewells finished, Legolas mounted Arod at last, and started down the path that led to Lothlórien with the confidence that he was ready to accept his new future.

* * *

Somewhere within the dark shadows of the tower of Orthanc, a cloaked figure stirred, making its way to the place where the bodies of Saruman and Gríma lay. With the Rohirric company distracted as they prepared to return home, no one noticed the mysterious stranger standing on the balcony considering the dead. The figure crouched down and pulled the dagger from Saruman’s back, wiped the blood on Gríma’s black robes and wrapped it in a cloth. Then, just as quickly as the stranger appeared, it was gone back into the dark halls whence it came… silent and unseen by anyone, as the new master of the cursed blade.


	37. A Bad Time To Be A Wood Elf

It was yet another night on the road to Lothlórien. Legolas and Calariel moved at an easy pace, neither one in much of a hurry to return. They had kept their conversations casual and friendly, as each elf seemed cocooned in their private thoughts most of the time. Legolas was concerned about his acceptance into Lothlórien, especially after all that happened before. Lord Celeborn was his main issue since he would need his and Lady Galadriel’s approval to aid him in reclaiming Mirkwood. How was he going to accomplish this when Celeborn held such animosity against him? And what would he do if the Lord and Lady of Galadhon refused to help? Perhaps it would be beneficial to become acquainted with the Noldor of Lórien, and earn their trust before asking for an army, but Legolas was worried about time. Even now, he could feel a change in the air, and knew that Mordor was strengthening its forces. He had a feeling that Gondor would be their next target, for Rohan was too small compared to Minas Tirith. Sauron would look for greater numbers of people to destroy rather than revenge upon Rohan. Would Théoden ride with his army to Gondor? If they did, then Legolas could not call on his adopted home to help him fight against the evil in Mirkwood. And besides, how would he fight against an enemy that occupied a forest as large as the Rhovanion? 

“This rain is not going to let up any time soon,” Calariel called to Legolas. He had ridden ahead of her while his mind was preoccupied.

It had started as a misty rain in the late afternoon, and the elves decided to keep moving, hoping that it would not last. But the light rain was giving way to a potential downpour.

“I think your right. We need to find shelter and stop for the night. No use making ourselves miserable,” he answered. Legolas was already miserable enough with thoughts of going to Celeborn and asking for help.

“I think I saw something back this way,” Calariel said, and they turned their horses in the direction that she led them.

They found a cave with an entrance tall and wide enough to tether the horses just inside, and deep enough to give the elves shelter for the night. Legolas checked the cave, finding it free of animals, and untied their packs. Calariel gathered what little dry wood there was, and started making a small fire, enough to knock the chill from their skin. Once they were settled, they sat side by side on the cave floor, holding the palms of their hands open to the flame. They were quiet for a long time, and Calariel seemed a bit unnerved. Legolas asked her what bothered her.

“It’s nothing really. I’m just not too keen on caves or anywhere underground,” she answered.

Legolas laughed, “There’s nothing here to harm us. The cave goes back a ways, but I could see no way anyone could get in here unless they are smaller than a rabbit.”

“I’m not worried about that. I just don’t like being enclosed like this. I would rather be in the safety of the trees rather than entombed by the earth.”

“Well, I would have to agree with you. I too prefer the trees to being underground,” he said as he took some dried meat from his pack and gave a piece to Calariel.

“But you are from Mirkwood. Your home was underground,” she said.

“It was not a dark and musty cave like the ones you are thinking of,” he explained. “It was a city carved beneath a hill, with tall columns of stone and open spaces. It was a generous cave system with numerous passages and grand halls.” He stopped and took a bite of meat.

“What else do you remember about Mirkwood?” Calariel asked.

He thought about her question a moment before answering, “Well, don’t remember much, but I remember the council chamber. Often times I would go there to be with my father when he was not away on some mission. He was gone a lot, which then I thought was because he was a captain of the army. Elhadron would take me there, and always the first thing I saw upon entering the grand room was my father’s smiling face. I would run to him, and he would pick me up and spin me around. Then he would encompass me in his arms and tell me how much he missed me. Those were the best times of all.”

“That’s how I imagined King Thranduil to be when he was not involved in politics,” she said.

They grew silent again, as they ate their light meal and drank the cool fresh rainwater. Then Legolas grew curious, “Do you know anything more about my mother and father? I know you told me some of their story, but I would gather as much as I can, and if there is anything you remember, I would gladly hear of it.”

“I really don’t know much besides what I have heard through stories,” she said regrettably.

“I have heard the story of Erebor and how my father turned from the dwarf mountain, but I can’t fathom the reason why he would have done it. All who have spoken of it make him sound as though he thought himself superior to all others, and that he cared naught about the dwarves or the people of Dale who suffered the fiery onslaught of Smaug. All I keep thinking about is my vision of his last stand against the invading orcs and everything that led up to that point. The elf I remember would never have marched to battle only to turn and leave the helpless to die.”

“I don’t know why anyone would turn away,” Calariel admitted, “But I’m sure he had good reason. He could not have known about the destruction, for he arrived as it was happening. Smaug appeared swiftly and suddenly with no warning. Everyone was caught completely by surprise. I think it was coincidence that Thranduil arrived when he did. Perhaps he knew he was no match for the dragon and would not risk the lives of his men, especially if they were ill-prepared.”

“Why was he in Erebor to begin with?” Legolas asked.

“Most likely, to do trade with the dwarves. Thranduil went there often,” Calariel answered. “From what I know, he had a love of gems and rare stones. The Dwarves of Erebor owned some of the most unusual and extraordinary jewels of Middle-earth. Thranduil prided himself on his bartering abilities, and thus used these skills to build his collection of rarities.”

Legolas seemed befuddled, “I hadn’t known that. I don’t remember ever having seen him adorned with such finery.”

“So it could have been that he was off on one of his trade missions when he came upon the dragon. As I said, he would have been unprepared to fight against one such as Smaug.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Legolas said, though he felt part of the story was still missing. Something had been left out, and he wondered if Celeborn could shed some light on the rest of his father’s tale.

Calariel sensed his disappointment, “I’m sorry I don’t know more.”

“It’s alright. I suppose I’ll learn more somehow. I already know more than I did before,” he smiled warmly, but his mind was still occupied.

Calariel sat next to Legolas, listening to the crackling fire and feeling Legolas’ worry about returning to Lothlórien. He would soon be up against an almost impossible task. “You know there will be those of us who will join your cause.”

Legolas continued staring into the fire as he nodded, “Yes, but thirty elves against an unknown number of fell things will not be enough.”

Calariel sighed, “There is a lot to be done before we can even think about stepping foot into Mirkwood. First, we will muster an army.”

Legolas stole a glance at her, watching how her eyes danced with excitement and determination. She was very different from the other Noldor. A fire burned within her that he did not perceive from others of her heritage.

Calariel’s mind was generating visions of a Galadhrim army large enough to invade the Rhovanion. There would be a way, she was sure of it. “Mirkwood must be taken back by the elves. The balance of power has been uneven for far too long. There was always three strong elven realms, and there shall be three again. Only then will the evil powers of this world begin to wane.” She stopped and smiled, as she resolved the puzzle. “That’s it. That’s what Saruman was trying to accomplish. He didn’t just want control over Rohan. He wanted complete control over everything, even Sauron. The elven realms were already unbalanced with the destruction of Mirkwood. All that was left was to throw off the human kingdoms. Gondor was too big and powerful, so he used Rohan instead. It also explains why Gríma wanted you slain. You are the only one who can restore power to Mirkwood. You are its only heir, and you shall be king of the Woodland realm.”

At the mention of Gríma’s name, Legolas folded his arms and bent his head low, as if he was cocooning himself from something terrible. Calariel felt his reserve and she knew what caused it. She had felt his struggle at the foot of Orthanc, when Legolas held his bow ready, ignoring the advice of certain members of the company. She wanted to ask him about it, but she waited for Legolas to decide to open up. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Have you ever killed when it was not a matter of self-defense?” he asked.

“Anyone I have ever killed died because they wanted to see me dead first,” she answered, “But I know what you speak of. I felt your hatred for the man. I saw the dark shadow of revenge glaze over your eyes. It guided you for an instant, didn’t it?”

Legolas nodded, “All I wanted in that moment was to bury my arrow deep within his black heart for the sake of all that I’d lost… for Mirkwood and my father, for Elhadron, for Théodred, even for Lúta and her father, and all who perished at Helm’s Deep.”

“As I told you then, it is not the way of the elves. Though Gríma had a hand in some of the things you’ve mentioned, he never directly attacked you. Gríma himself was being used, just as you were. You became a weapon in someone else’s armory. It was your deep elvish roots that unsteadied your hand, for you knew it was not our way, and you could not kill Gríma. Just as revenge guided your hand to draw your arrow, your sense for what is right and just blinded you from your target. You should not doubt yourself.”

He knew she was right for he’d felt exactly what she had just explained. Legolas relaxed his arms and bent his head to the side so he could look upon Calariel. She was not what he expected to find, especially in Lothlórien. “I’m glad you are not like the others,” he smiled.

She smiled in return, “I’m glad you’re not either.”

* * *

“We’ve been expecting you, Calariel, but not the company that you keep,” said Arato, one of the gate guards, and Calariel’s nemesis. They had always fought for top placement and high scores during their training years. Arato had also started gossip about Calariel’s relationship with Haldir, and how coincidental it was that she had moved through the ranks to border guard so easily.

Now, Calariel glared at Arato, as they made to pass through the entrance of Galadhon. “He is welcome here,” she said evenly.

“Not by everyone,” Arato glowered as he turned an accusatory eye on Legolas. Then he regarded Calariel again, “I suggest you go straight to your father.”

“What of Rúmil and the others? Did they make a safe return?” Calariel asked.

Arato looked down his nose at the pair, “They are here.”

Legolas was relieved to hear that. He had no reason to think they would be delayed, but one could never tell when something bad might happen, especially in these dark days.

The two elves passed through the gate, following the paths that led to the drop ladders. When Legolas had come here the first time, he’d been escorted directly to the Lord and Lady. He had taken the long winding staircase that encompassed the bole of the huge mallorn tree where their private audience chamber was. Calariel was leading him by a different way.

“Aren’t we going to see the Lord and Lady?” he asked.

“Not just yet. Unfortunately, Arato was right about going to my father first. No doubt he will be furious with me. Besides, I think you should wait until your presence is known, and since Arato was on duty today, it won’t take long for word to reach Galadriel’s ear.” As she explained, she signaled with a wave to an elf high up on a platform, who kicked a rope ladder over the edge. As it came down, it unrolled like a lizard’s tongue. Legolas already felt like he was the prey, and was a bit unsettled by the visual.

They climbed the ladder and navigated a few suspended bridges, saying little to each other as they went, when someone called from behind.

“Calariel,” he said anxiously, and she turned to find her father.

Legolas had given much thought to his first meeting with Túrdir, but he hadn’t expected to see someone as intimidating as this very tall, broad, silver-haired Noldo. Legolas swallowed a nervous lump that developed in his throat. Túrdir exhibited the superiority and wisdom of one that had survived long years of challenges. He would not be easy to deal with.

Calariel approached her father, and he took her hands in his. “Are you well?” he asked.

“Yes father, no harm has come to me.” she started, but yes was enough for Túrdir.

The Noldo captain looked past his daughter’s shoulder and saw Legolas standing on the suspended pathway. He gently pushed Calariel to the side and stormed towards the young Prince. Legolas suddenly had a flashing memory of the Beorning bear that charged him, and almost took his head with one bite. He had only been an elfling then, but he stood his ground. Legolas found himself taking the same stance with the angry Noldo, though he was certain he would not lose his head this time.

Túrdir was only slightly surprised that Legolas not so much as flinched, but it did nothing to curb his anger. He stopped directly in front of Legolas and glared at him. “You… stay away… from… my daughter,” he commanded in a low yet threatening voice.

“Ada!” Calariel shouted, surprised by her father’s outrageous behavior.

“Stay out of this!” Túrdir yelled back.

“He had nothing to do with my leaving. I went on my own accord,” she argued.

Legolas never dropped his eyes from Túrdir, but he regarded him with utmost respect. “It is true. I tried to dissuade her, as well as the others from coming with me.”

“You did not try hard enough,” said Túrdir. “I suggest that you go now, take care of whatever business it is that you have, and leave Calariel alone.”

“Ada!” she yelled again.

“No, Calariel! I’ll not have you gallivanting wherever you please with this… this uncivilized wood elf.”

“Gallivanting?” she retaliated. “What exactly do you think went on?”

“I’d rather not know,” her father mumbled. He set his eyes on Legolas once more, “You forget about Calariel. I don’t know what you have planned, but she will not be a part of it. I’ll not have her risk her life for some unattainable cause. Mirkwood is destroyed. It’s been overtaken by darkness for too long. It is folly to ask Lothlórien for aid. You’ll only get our people killed with your rash behavior. I’ve seen what your kind is like, not caring for anyone but themselves. Go, Thranduil’s son, and leave my family out of your business. Perhaps if your father had done that, your mother would still be alive.” Without giving Legolas an opportunity to respond, Túrdir turned on his heal and walked back to Calariel. He took her arm. “You’ll come home with me… now.”

Calariel pulled her arm from his grip, taking Túrdir by surprise. “No, Ada, I’ll not go with you. Legolas and I have important business with the Lord and Lady.”

“Your business with him is finished,” Túrdir argued.

Legolas took a step forward, “Sir, if you’ll let me explain—”

“I have nothing else to say to you,” Túrdir interrupted. “Go now or I’ll have you escorted by the guards.”

Calariel moved so that she stood between the two elves. She looked at Legolas pleadingly, “Go on, and I’ll catch up to you.”

Legolas looked from Calariel to Túrdir, one asking him to leave and the other demanding it. He bowed and walked away, hoping Calariel wouldn’t be too long, for he did not know his way around the tree city.

When he was out of earshot, Calariel rounded on her father. “You should not treat him like that. He did nothing wrong.”

“Coming to Lothlórien was his mistake. We don’t want him here, and I’ll not have you associating with someone like him.”

“You don’t even know him. How can you make such assumptions? And why are you so hostile towards him?”

“He is not like us. He is of the same blood as the Teleri, those who ignored the Valar’s call of homecoming. They do not walk in the Light as we do. They walk in the Twilight, and therefore are less wise and overly impetuous.”

Calariel glared at her father, “Is that the real reason, or is it because he is the son of Thranduil?”

Túrdir narrowed his eyes as he towered above his daughter, “What would you know of Thranduil?”

Calariel squared her shoulders and gave him a pugnacious look, “I know that even now that he is dead, you still have ill feelings towards him.”

“You know not of what you speak,” he countered.

“And how does mother feel about this, to know that her husband still harbors feelings for Mirkwood’s dead queen?” Calariel was pushing the limit with her father, but she’d had enough.

“Hold your tongue, child!” Túrdir said through clenched teeth.

Calariel would not listen. “You think that just because Legolas is Thranduil’s son he thinks and acts like him, but you couldn’t be farther from the truth. You are judging him by his bloodline. Well, Ada, if you are going to do that, then you must take into account that Almárëa’s blood also flows through his veins. She was Noldor just as you and I are, and that means Legolas is half-Noldo too. Will you dismiss that fact?” Without waiting for his response, Calariel started to walk away from her father.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he called after her.

“I’m taking Legolas to see the Lord and Lady, and if they approve his request, I will be the first to volunteer my skills for his cause.”

Túrdir caught up to her in one long stride, and reached for her hand to stop her, “Wait, and hear me out first.”

Calariel stopped, but she remained with her back turned as she listened to her father speak. “I am sorry to be so strict, but you must understand how it rips at my heart to know that you might abandon your home, just as Almárëa once did. It has opened old wounds that I just assumed had never been seen. I never meant for you to know about any of this, but then, I guess I did not hide it so well.”

Calariel could hear the sadness in her father’s tone. She looked over her shoulder as she spoke. “I am not Almárëa, and though I might care for Legolas, I am not running away to marry him.” She finally turned to him, her eyes softening as she regarded him. “He is the only survivor of an entire realm. Not only that, but he is the rightful heir to that land. Mirkwood was destroyed because Lothlórien did not act quickly enough. We owe it to Legolas to help him reclaim his home so that it can be rebuilt.”

“Mirkwood brought destruction upon itself because of the greed of its King,” Túrdir explained. “There was a reason why Thranduil buried himself beneath that hill and closed him and his people off from the rest of the world. He was a collector of fine things. He owned some of the rarest stones and jewels of Middle-earth. But his greed did not stop there. Through his arrogance and persistence, he gained the attention of Almárëa. He did not care that she had promised herself to me. The stories you hear will romanticize them, but the truth is, Almárëa was just another jewel to add to his collection. And that kind of avarice will only attract evil.”

“You don’t actually believe that, do you? If she was meant to be with you, she never would have let Thranduil persuade her into running away and leave everything behind. And if you loved her as you say you did, why didn’t you fight harder to keep her?” Calariel paused to think about what she had said, shaking her head disappointedly. “I can’t believe I am having this conversation. Do you know how it hurts me to know all of this, to know you still care for her when you have a devoted wife and a loving daughter who have never questioned their feelings for you? Thranduil and Almárëa made their choice because they were deeply in love, and Legolas was the result of that… just as you opened your heart again, and I am the result of the love you and Mother now share. So let me ask you this? If you could go back and change the past, would you… knowing what you know now?”

Túrdir’s eyes misted over, and he embraced his daughter, “Of course not, Calariel. You and your mother are the most important things in my life. And this is why I ask you to consider my advice and stay within the protection of Lothlórien, for my heart would break a thousand times more painfully if ever I lost you.”

Calariel peeled herself gently from her father’s arms. “I could tell you yes, that I will consider it, but it would be a lie, for I have already chosen. I want to see Mirkwood put back into the hands of the elves. I want to see balance restored to our elvish communities. Before all of this, it had been the power of three… Lothlórien, Rivendell and Mirkwood. It must be that way again, and stay that way until the last elf of each realm sails to the Undying Lands.”

Túrdir reached for a tendril of Calariel’s hair, letting it fall from his fingers. He gave a defeated sigh. “Why is it that I can’t ever hold sway over the women that I love. Go then, and take my blessings with you. May the Valar watch over you and keep you out of harm’s way.”

Calariel gave him a somber smile knowing she was going against his wishes. “You know, if all goes as planned, the army will need captains,” she suggested.

Túrdir turned his eyes away from her, “No, my daughter. I’m afraid this is not my fight, not this time.”

* * *

He was lost, of course. He’d followed the wider walkways just like Calariel had told him, but he’d come to a cross section where both paths were the same width. Left, right or straight, Legolas contemplated. Right felt familiar so he chose it, and ended up in another area of flets. At least if he could find the dining hall he’d have a better idea of where he was.

He stood considering the round houses before him, and wished Calariel had come sooner. Maybe he should knock on someone’s door and ask for directions. As he thought this, he heard voices coming from one of the homes whose door was cracked open. Out walked three Galadhrim soldiers, all with the same platinum color hair, worn long and straight, and braided at the sides. They really did look like brothers, Legolas noted.

Rúmil smiled upon seeing Legolas. Haldir gave him a stern yet affable eye. Orophin was as emotionless as he was their first meeting in the forest.

“We’d heard you had arrived,” Rúmil greeted. “It is good to see you again. I trust everything went well in Isengard?”

“As well as could be expected,” Legolas answered, thinking of a now dead Saruman and Gríma. “There will be no more trouble from that place.”

“And Calariel,” Haldir inquired, “she is well?”

Legolas heard the hesitation in Haldir’s voice, and understood a little better why the marchwarden still harbored feelings for her. She was unlike any other elf. “Yes, she is quite well, and explaining herself to her father at this moment… which is why I am lost in your city again.”

Rúmil laughed, “You’d make a terrible scout.”

“In Lothlórien, perhaps,” Legolas chortled. 

“You’ll be wanting to see the Lord and Lady I presume?” Haldir asked.

“Yes, I have things to discuss with them,” Legolas answered. The brothers would already know what those things were.

“It will be difficult to persuade them, though Lady Galadriel will be more willing to hear you out,” said Orophin.

“Come,” said Haldir, “I’ll take you there, if you are ready.”

“I’ve been ready for a very long time,” Legolas said quietly.

Rúmil and Orophin went their own way, while Haldir escorted Legolas to the private audience chamber of Celeborn and Galadriel. This was a different place than the one Legolas had originally met them. The flet was small, more personal and less threatening, as there seemed to be more of a female influence in the room. The wide windows let in more air and made it seem open and inviting. Legolas hoped that this was a good sign.

Haldir stopped outside of the door, which stood open, and motioned for Legolas to enter. “They know you are here and will be with you shortly.”

Legolas bowed, “Thank you.”

Haldir nodded, but he stood still a moment, as though he was not through. “I cannot help you without permission, but if the Lord and Lady decide to grant you what you want, you’ll have my full support.”

“I appreciate that, and I can think of no one else that I’d rather have fighting by my side,” Legolas said politely. Then he entered the room to wait for his counsel.

Not long after, Lord Celeborn came, dressed in his long cream colored robes, his hair neatly braided, and the crease between his brows set much deeper than Legolas had remembered. The Prince bowed with hand over heart, slowly and deliberately, showing the Noldo lord his utmost respect.

“Please, have a seat,” said Celeborn, as Legolas stood from his bow. He took a seat in the chair by a white oak writing desk, expecting Celeborn to sit behind it. Instead, the lord of Lórien stood in front of a bookshelf, his finger traveling across the many book spines that were neatly lined up. With his back turned, he spoke to his guest. “Word reached us that Rohan was successful in defeating the enemy. It is but one small victory though. Sauron will want retribution for his loss.”

“King Théoden knows this. He has been counseled by Gandalf, who assists him in these coming days,” Legolas said. He was not sure where Celeborn was going with this conversation, but it would certainly lead to a disagreement.

“It is my understanding that our granddaughter’s beloved also stays with the Rohirrim, and has been quite successful himself.”

“You speak of Aragorn I assume. He played an important part in the battle, and I am honored to call him a friend.”

“Yes,” Celeborn said as he turned to face Legolas. “I noticed how quickly you seem to make friends and gain their support.”

Legolas knew he was referring to the sudden disappearance of Calariel, Rúmil and the thirty elves that followed him to Helm’s Deep. “I did not ask them to come.”

“That has been made quite clear to me.” Celeborn abandoned the bookshelf and came to stand next to Legolas. The Prince couldn’t help but feel forced into a submissive stance, as he sat next to the tall Noldo. Celeborn had put a hand on Legolas’ shoulder, confirming his thoughts of this. The elf lord was demonstrating his power and position. “You seem to have divided our community, Legolas. Not everyone agrees with my choice not to send aid to the Rohirrim.”

It must have been a much larger number of elves than the small company that came with him to Helm’s Deep, or Celeborn would not have brought it up. “Are the elves within Lothlórien not free to make their own decisions?” Legolas asked.

Celeborn ignored Legolas and continued, “Your father was disruptive as well, when he came to Lothlórien. Your mother was not the only one to leave the Golden Woods. There were those who chose to relocate to the Rhovanion. Unfortunately, their fates were sealed along with the rest of your kinsmen.”

“Hmm, they did not know then that the Greenwood would fall into darkness, and it was an unfortunate fate as you say. Yet, here are elves that know the land is teaming with filth, and they are still willing to go,” Legolas said smartly.

“I will not stop them, if that is their choice, but I will make them aware of the dangers.” Celeborn released Legolas’ shoulder and turned away from him as he started to speak again. “I assume you are here once again to ask for my help. And again I am denying you.”

Legolas started to speak, but Celeborn put up a hand to stop him, “I’ll make my reasons quite clear to you.” He moved to stand before Legolas, hands cupped together and looking down his nose. “Your quest is failed before it has begun, young Prince. It is a trap.”

Legolas cocked his head and looked up through his dark lashes, “And how have you already come to this conclusion?”

Celeborn gave a muffled laugh and shook his head, “Youth and naivety always walk side by side.” He smiled arrogantly before he continued, “By now, the Dark Lord will know of your existence. He’ll know that you will be able to restore power to Mirkwood. And he will expect you to seek aid to accomplish this. Sauron will expect you to come to the Rhovanion with an army, and because of our proximity, size and strength, he’ll expect that army to come from Lothlórien.”

Legolas knew Celeborn was right with his assumptions, for Legolas had considered the same thing. To lure the Galadhrim away from the protection of the Lady’s woods would mean a chance at weakening and destroying a good portion of Lórien’s army. Sauron’s victory could lead to the destruction of Caras Galadhon, even with Galadriel’s protection over the land.

“I do not ask you to empty your borders. Just lend me a small portion of your army. I will grow the numbers from elsewhere, Rohan perhaps,” Legolas suggested.

Celeborn was unimpressed, “Word has reached us of an unfortunate incident that occurred between one of the hobbits and the seeing stone that I spoke of, unfortunate but extremely helpful. Gandalf is currently on his way to Gondor to warn them of the coming war while Rohan waits for a call to arms. You’ll not find help from them.” Celeborn looked away from Legolas and shook his head. “Perhaps you should have stayed with your adopted people. Actually, if you leave soon, you might still be able to catch them before they leave for Gondor. I’m sure they could use your skills, where here they will only be wasted.”

Tired, desperate and capitulated, Legolas stood from his chair and approached the elf lord. “What is it you want from me, Lord Celeborn? Shall I apologize for my father taking your loved one from your protected lands? Shall I apologize for my mother agreeing to go with him? Or shall I beg forgiveness for being born unto them? I cannot change what has happened, for it cannot be undone. You are hurt, and I understand that, but what you forget is that I share your loss. You may not have cared for Thranduil, but he was my father, and I loved him very much. I strive to be the great elf that he once was, and can only hope that he knows this. And though I was too young to remember much of her, I will always weep for my mother. There is so much that you could share of her. She was your sister, and you knew her well. However, you chose to use her death as continued punishment towards me and my lost city, when I have done naught to you.” In a final attempt to sway Celeborn, Legolas bowed his head, placed his hand on his heart, and in a somber soft voice claimed, “All I want… all I have ever wanted is to know what home feels like.”

“And you shall,” said a new voice, as Galadriel entered unexpectedly into the private audience chamber.

“Lady Galadriel,” Legolas said with shock.

“I was not expecting you, my love,” Celeborn added.

She smiled at her husband and approached Legolas, laying a gentle, warm hand to the side of his face, while drawing him to look at her. Their eyes connected and Legolas thought he could have seen as far as Valinor within their blue depths. Her eyes smiled as her lips curled with gladness, “You shall know peace again, Laiqalassë, and we will grant you your army.”

“We will?” Celeborn inquired, his brow raised questioningly.

“The time of healing must begin now, even as war is eminent. The Prince is right, too long have we mourned Almárëa’s passing while placing the blame on Thranduil, and now onto Legolas.” Galadriel went to her husband and took up his hands, “He is in no way responsible for anything deserving of your disapproval. He is your sister’s son, and that is most important. Clear your mind of the bitter haze and see.”

“I do see, my love,” Celeborn responded. “I see it every time I look at him, and I can’t keep my heart from weeping. He has her eyes, her lips, the shape of her face.”

“Then, do not despair any longer, for you are seeing her spirit as it lives through him. Almárëa is among us still,” Galadriel comforted. “We must help him, but it is a matter of timing.” She abandoned Celeborn, who silently considered his wife’s words, and confronted Legolas again. “Celeborn is right, we cannot send our army to Mirkwood… just yet. We must take advantage of what we know, and strike at the heart of our enemy.”

“Is Mirkwood not this place?” Legolas asked.

“Mirkwood in merely a haven for the degenerate creatures that claim the land, but the soul of this evil dwells within Dol Guldur. That is where Sauron’s orcs reside. He breeds his army from the decrepit towers of Amon Lanc. That must be our target,” said Galadriel.

Legolas thought about this. They could strike Dol Guldur, but… “We could still go to Mirkwood, as Sauron thinks we will, but with only a minimal army. Dol Guldur will empty, thinking they will ambush us, but the larger army will be waiting for them. Once they are in the open, Lothlórien will attack.”

“Sauron’s eye sees far. He will be suspicious of the smaller army,” said Celeborn, as he found himself drawn into the plans. “He may even spot the larger secondary army. He has spies everywhere.”

“That is why I say we must wait. We know Sauron will attack Gondor. His eye will be turned towards the White City, as an extensive part of his army will be there. His attention will not be on the Rhovanion, giving us a better chance of not being discovered,” informed Galadriel.

“And he’ll be looking towards Mirkwood, not Dol Guldur. It does make sense,” Legolas agreed. He looked to Galadriel and nodded, “Alright, I will be willing to wait if you will agree to send your armies in with me.”

Galadriel twisted at the waist to look at her husband, “That is solely up to Lord Celeborn.”

Legolas and Galadriel waited for his decision. Finally, Celeborn spoke, “I think in a way, I am not too different from Thranduil. All I have wanted is the safety of my people and those that I love. We live a splendid life, but we have barricaded ourselves away from the rest of the world in order to do that. Meanwhile, certain things have gone unchecked, and the wicked and immoral have spread like disease.” Celeborn took his wife’s hand and kissed it, “I should like to see it vanquished before I leave these shores, but I now understand that I must be a part of the cleansing. Perhaps Thranduil came to see this too, before he died, but I have been blinded by grief and anger all these years. I am no more.” He turned to Legolas with a nod of his head, “You shall have your army.”


	38. We Meet Again

Legolas was prepared to wait, however, he didn’t know the wait would have been this long. Days passed like weeks in Lothlórien, where time seemed to slow to a snail’s pace. He was used to the hustle of the human pace though, quick decision making and follow through. But, if he wanted his army, he would have to wait it out.

Lady Galadriel seemed to know the goings on in the world outside of her realm. Legolas assumed she consulted her mirror often, but he was told this was not the case. He had befriended a group of elves that informed him of how things worked. The mirror, it seemed, was a tool only to be used in the direst situations, for it was not as reliable as some would believe. It could show you the future, or only the outcome that you desired most. It depended on the one who ventured to look into it. The truer of heart, the truer the vision.

Instead of using her mirror, Lady Galadriel had the unusual gift of mind power, and could communicate with a willing host. And so it was Gandalf who she visited as she meditated in her garden, looking into his thoughts or using his visions to see what happened hundreds of miles from Caras Galadhon. During her last session, she found out that the Rohirrim had indeed been called upon by Gondor. They had gathered and were now marching to the White City and to war. Legolas could not help but feel guilt for not being with them, but he knew he was where he needed to be. And so, he waited for word from Galadriel that it was time to gather his own army and execute their plans.

While in Lothlórien, Legolas became friendly with quite a few elves. He had joined the hunters as they set out to check traps or hunt big game. He had been invited to help in the kitchens once or twice, and learned a bit about preparing the meals for the special feasts. One time, he was caught singing to himself as he walked along one of the many catwalks, and the minstrels invited him to their practice sessions. And then there was the storytelling, done around the communal fire pits of the city. He had shared his stories once, and word quickly spread of his talent for the telling of tales. The Lórien elves constantly asked him to share his stories, for they had never seen the things Legolas had experienced during his lifetime. He told them of the Woodsmen, and how their community was very similar to that of Caras Galadhon, a city in the trees as he referred to it. Then, he told them about the Beornings and their chief, Grimbeorn. Many of the elves had known his father, Beorn the skin-changer, and were saddened by his death. They’d not heard any news of his home or his people since that time, and wondered how they fared. Legolas told them about his brief stay at Beorn’s Hall, and of all that he’d seen while there. The elves were glad to know that his son continued Beorn’s legacy, keeping things much the same as his father wanted them.

Legolas found that it was the soldiers who were most curious about Rohan and their strategies for battle. Of course, Legolas had been well trained by the Rohirrim, and had plenty to share with them. He even shared a few personal stories about his misadventures with Eomer and Théodred when they were young. It was good to talk about his youthful days, and especially his friendship with Théodred. He hadn’t thought of his friend in some while, and it lifted his heart to speak of him now.

The elf prince was amazed at how the Lothlórien elves were mesmerized by his stories, and they hung onto every word. Truly, they had not much experience with the people outside of their realm. Most had never ventured past their borders, for they knew they were safe within. But they were taught to believe that life outside of Lothlórien was harsh and deadly, and that they were better off to live a peaceful life within their protective gates. The truth was, life could be unpleasant, physically uncomfortable at times, and sometimes very grating and desolate, but there was joy and happiness more than naught, and that made all the bad times worth the struggle. Through his teachings, he did not realize it, but Legolas began to form a following of Noldor who wished to experience what was everyday life for the prince. His army was building right before his very eyes, though he did not know it. More than that, he was developing the stirrings of a new colony of elves that—if it all worked out—would go with him to Mirkwood. And among those most hopeful was Calariel.

Legolas had spent a good deal of time with Calariel, developing their friendship, and only slightly touching on anything more that might develop between them. Despite her father’s warnings, she would not stay away from him. She liked Legolas very much, but she was careful not to involve her heart just yet. Legolas felt the same, though he hadn’t known it. They were in a time of war, and the natural instincts of the elves was to put a hold on any romantic notions. It would not be prudent to involve the heart before going into a battle where one might perish, leaving the other to slowly fade from grief. That being so, it gave Calariel and Legolas an opportunity to familiarize themselves without the underlying push to take their relationship to the next step.

They met most nights, climbing into the trees where they felt closest to the stars, though they could not see them through the thick canopy above. There they would sit and talk for hours, or just silently contemplate their own thoughts. Legolas felt very comfortable with Calariel, and he found himself anticipating these quiet times alone with her. They had talked about many different things, but there was one thing that Legolas would never bring up, and Calariel wished to know, though it was surely a painful memory for the prince. After many nightly conversations, she finally got the courage to ask him.

“Legolas, will you ever tell me about the one you call Róta?”

Legolas was taken aback and glanced at Calariel from the corner of his eye, “Why do you want to know about her?”

“Because I know about everyone else who has influenced you in one form or another,” Calariel said.

“I would not say that she influenced me,” Legolas quietly admitted. “She is not worth wasting my breath on.”

“Was it very painful for you?” she whispered.

Legolas remembered that night in the blacksmith’s cottage. Painful was not exactly the word he would have used. There was a full range of emotions that went along with that evening, from desire to anger and then embarrassment.

“What happened to her, do you know?” asked Calariel after Legolas did not speak.

“She was caught in her lies, but escaped before the guards could apprehend her. No one has seen or heard of her since. It is good to be rid of worthless people like her, I say. Besides, she was employed by Gríma, and he is no more. She’ll have likely crawled back to the place from whence she came,” said Legolas with disgust. “Why do you want to know about her?”

“I don’t know. I guess you’ve told me about the other women, but you’d never spoken of her. I was just curious.”

“She was wicked and I was naïve. That’s all I’ll say about that,” Legolas ended, and then turned the questions onto her. “What about you? Has there been anyone that you’d rather never have met?”

“No, not that I can think of,” she answered.

“What about that gate guard you spoke with upon our arrival. He did not seem very friendly, least of all to me.”

Calariel searched her memory, “You speak of Arato? Well, yes, there are times that I wish he’d been born to a different race.”

Legolas laughed, “See, the men would have put that differently. They’d wish he’d never been born at all. But go on. I did not mean to interrupt. How has Arato made life difficult for you?”

Calariel looked at Legolas skeptically, but continued, “We were in training together. He is very good, but so am I, and he did not like that. Everything is a competition with Arato.”

“Seems harmless enough,” Legolas commented. “A little hard competition is good… keeps you on your toes. That’s how it was for Eomer, Théodred and I.”

“But I’m sure your friends never accused you of cheating your way up the ranks with one of your officers,” she said sadly.

The humor left Legolas’ eyes as he regarded Calariel, “He accused you of doing this… with Haldir?”

“How did you know?” she said shocked.

“I have seen the way the March warden observes you. It’s not difficult to figure out his feelings towards you. He does not always hide them so well,” Legolas admitted.

“So you see why I keep my distance from him. I don’t like to because I like Haldir. He has helped me, but not in the way that Arato accuses.”

“And if Arato was not a burden?” Legolas asked carefully.

“I feel for Haldir as I would for a brother, nothing more.”

Legolas readjusted himself and moved closer to Calariel so that their legs barely brushed against each other. He looked straight ahead as he asked his next question, “And how do you feel about me?”

Calariel arched a brow and looked down where their legs connected, “Definitely not as a brother.”

“As a friend?” he asked, leading her into an admittance.

She pondered before answering, “As a friend, yes, but there is definitely room for advancement.”

“Ah, I would like very much to advance.” He swiveled to face her. “Perhaps I am due for a promotion.”

“Granted, soldier,” she jested playfully.

Legolas closed the distance between them, cupped the side of her face and kissed her more thoroughly than he had in the past. She did not protest at the feel of his tongue upon hers, and he readily welcomed the feel of her hand sliding across his chest and around the back of his neck. They spent a while discovering these new sensations until they were both dizzy with need. Then Calariel pulled away first and touched a finger to his swollen lips.

“If we were in Rohan, what would happen next?” she asked sensuously.

Legolas was intrigued by her curiosity, “I don’t think it would be proper to tell you the secrets of our Rohirric courting, but I’ll tell you this much. We would have to get ourselves down from this tree for fear of falling blissfully to our deaths.”

Calariel studied his face, seeing not only an elf and a prince, but a strange human quality. “You are unlike anyone I’ve ever met. The son of an elvish king, and yet you refer to yourself as a Rohir. You are bound to them, the Men of the world. I don’t expect that will ever wane.”

Her words struck him to his very soul. Legolas had never thought of himself in that way, but there was some truth in what she said. “It was the path that was chosen for me.”

“And what will you do now that the choice is yours?” she asked seriously.

“My mind is set. I’ll not waver, Calariel. I mean to take back Mirkwood,” he claimed.

“It was always a city of elves. You do know that. Men have never lived there. They would never have been invited into Thranduil’s halls, nor would they have wanted to enter the Elf-king’s caverns. When you reclaim your home and take up the crown, it will be that way still.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. Why would I turn away those who raised me? Just as they offered me their homes, I shall do the same,” Legolas said.

“Make that decision once you have entered your palace, Laiqalassë. If Thranduil’s riches have not been scavenged, I think you will see why he kept to himself. The Elf-king would venture out from his home, but no one from the outside world was allowed to enter. It is said that there is treasure there that would seduce the minds of men with just one glance of its brilliance. Greed consumes them so easily,” Calariel warned, “And some would stop at nothing to possess what Thranduil had hidden.”

Legolas knew that Thranduil dealt with the Dwarves of Erebor, trading for jewels, stones and gems of rare quality. In return, he used them to trade for goods that allowed his people to thrive. Living underground in a forest teaming with danger made self-sufficiency difficult. Mirkwood depended mainly on trade, but Legolas had never taken into account the dangers of owning such rich treasure. Surely, most men would not have thought twice about stealing from Thranduil, he thought, until Gríma’s name came to mind. Here was a man blinded by greed and power, who would do anything to obtain it, and if there was one, there were others. Once Legolas claimed the throne, it would be his responsibility to keep the treasure, as well as the people, safe. This was something he hadn’t considered before, but now he would think of it often. Could he close himself off as his father did? Would he have to? Would he want to?

* * *

A few more weeks passed torturously by, and Legolas was still awaiting word. He had known that the army was organizing, and he hoped it wouldn’t be much longer before it was time to go to war. He’d met often with Haldir, who kept him informed about their proposed strategies. The March warden would not go to Mirkwood, for he would have the largest part of the army to command as they marched to Dol Guldur. He hesitated at sending either of his brothers to Mirkwood, but he knew this would be likely. At least one of them would have to go along with Legolas. These troops would be the decoys. Once word reached Dol Guldur that the elves were invading Mirkwood, the dark tower would empty, but they would walk into a trap. The idea was to surround the orc army and take down as many as they could so that only a few would actually make their way to Mirkwood and the smaller elvish army. The orcs would not be expecting any trouble so close to their base.

The one thing that would make any of this possible, without Sauron getting word of the surprise attack, depended upon the outcome of the battle in Gondor. The Dark Lord’s attention must not be drawn to the Rhovanion or all would be lost. Galadriel spoke of an event that would happen, an assault on Mordor itself, something that would cause enough of a distraction to allow Lothlórien to carry out its plans successfully. This was what they were all waiting for.

Since coming to Lothlórien, Legolas had seen little of Celeborn. And so he was surprised by the elf lord’s appearance as Legolas sat in one of the garden’s where he chose to meditate.

Celeborn stood silently by, observing Legolas before he called to him. Seeing the young prince reminded him of his sister, who used to come to this exact spot when something was troubling her. She visited here often after meeting and falling in love with Thranduil. Celeborn wondered if it was during these quiet sessions that she made her plans to run away and elope with the Mirkwood King.

“Legolas,” he called, “My wife would have a word with you. She asks that you join her in her private garden.”

Legolas stood immediately, brushed away any dirt that clung to his leggings and followed Celeborn silently to see Galadriel. They stopped just short of the garden entrance, and Celeborn turned to the prince. “Take heed, especially if she will have you gaze into her mirror. Do not try to control your thoughts or questions, but let the mirror speak freely, and it will show you the truth,” Celeborn warned.

Legolas gave a slight bow of his head, “I will, Lord Celeborn.” He could tell that the elf lord was reluctant to have Legolas meet with Galadriel. Had they discussed this before she called upon him? If they had, Legolas could be sure that Celeborn was against the idea, but when it came to Galadriel’s mirror, none but the Lady of Light had the last word.

Legolas entered alone, for Celeborn walked away in the opposite direction of the garden. There was a set of stone steps that led to a sunken area lined with sweet smelling flowers, and lit with hanging lanterns. Fireflies blinked their message to each other, adding to the whimsy of the place. In the center was a stand that held a simple looking stone basin. Galadriel stood next to the basin, and her smile warmed Legolas’ heart. He waited until she called him to join her, and then he approached.

“I thought you would like to know that the time draws near,” Galadriel said, starting the conversation. “The pieces have been put in place, and Gondor is prepared. Gandalf is there. Rohan comes in a few days’ time. Sauron’s eye is turned towards the White City. His Captains have abandoned their posts to return to Mordor, which means no one governs Dol Guldur. It will be safe to start our journey to the dark towers, however, it is you they will be looking for.”

“Yes, I know, and I am prepared,” Legolas said committedly. 

“Good,” Galadriel smiled. She walked away from the basin and joined Legolas where he stood, taking his arm. “How have you faired while in Lothlórien? The last time you were here, you were in a hurry to be away. I hope it is not so this time.”

“I knew there was no choice in the matter, and I have made the best of my time, though sometimes it has seemed like an age,” Legolas admitted.

“As is the way time passes in the Golden Woods. And have you made new acquaintances?” she asked.

“More than a few, my lady, as well as some who wish to see me gone, but those are much less than the friends I have made.”

“Well, there will always be those who will not understand. Set in their ways they are,” she smiled, and Legolas thought she was speaking of more than the elves he’d met. Celeborn was among the stubborn.

“I’m sorry if my presence has caused a rift,” he said apologetically.

“You have been just the disturbance needed, I think. But tell me, Legolas, how has it been for you, visiting with your mother’s people?”

“I have learned more about her, about my parents, but I still have questions… not about their relationship. That is quite clear to me, and I understand why everything happened as it did.”

“But you have an unanswered question about your father, don’t you,” she interrupted, finishing his thoughts.

Legolas nodded, noticing that, as he spoke, Galadriel was leading him towards the stone basin. “I cannot quite figure out why he turned away from Erebor without at least trying to help. His actions caused the mistrust between two races… Elves and Dwarves. I keep thinking, trying to come up with a reason, for I know without a doubt, that my father would never have walked away if he thought there was just the smallest hope. What could have made him leave the fight without sending a single arrow to help? Was he bewitched? Was he unprepared?”

Galadriel sat on a stone bench at the edge of the garden, folded her hands and laid them in her lap. “I sent him away.”

“You?” Legolas asked, confused, “But why?”

“There was something he had to know,” she told him from the bench. “The signs were all there, and had the Dwarves not been so foolishly distracted by their need for excavation, they might have seen it coming. But they only have a mind for rock and stone, and there they would see no warning. The elves look to the trees and the stars, and when Thranduil saw the absence of birds and the forest creatures turning from their usual paths, he knew there would be trouble. He sent scouts, who reported having felt the earth shift beneath their feet, and an unusually warm wind blowing from the north. This could only mean one thing… that a dragon had awakened.” She stopped and rose gracefully from the bench, turning to lightly brush a white bell-shaped flower. Then she folded her hands and turned to Legolas, continuing her story.

“You father consulted me in private, for he knew Celeborn would have no words of advice for him. I agreed and he told me of his findings. We both came to the same conclusion about a dragon. Only gems and precious metals will draw a dragon from its slumber, and it takes an enormous amount even at that. Thranduil feared that his people were in danger, having a large treasure locked away within his halls, but I knew it was an insufficient amount to awaken this kind of foe. It was the Dwarves, I told him, for I knew Erebor was one of the richest cities at the time. I hadn’t known just how deep they’d dug or what they had found, but it no longer mattered. A dragon was awake and the Dwarves were in harm’s way.

Thranduil, though I wouldn’t call him a friend of the Dwarves, had a certain connection to them, and felt the responsibility to warn them of the coming danger. I told him that if his scouts were correct in their findings, then it was already too late. He would not hear of it though, and he decided to send his armies to Erebor. Something bothered me about his decision, a niggling that some ill fate awaited. So, I consulted my mirror, and what I saw broke my heart.”

“Did you see the destruction of Erebor?” Legolas asked.

She nodded and looked at the stone basin, “Not just the Dwarves and their King, but your father and most of his army lay amongst the dead. I feared I was too late, for I had not looked into my mirror right away, but I reached Thranduil, and saw through his eyes the destruction had already begun. He stood upon the crest of a hill, looking down on Erebor and the neighboring city of Dale. Fires burned, people screamed, towers fell… everything was being destroyed, and the Dragon Smaug had lain waste to it all. I begged your father not to take another step, for it was almost as I had seen it in my vision. Thranduil and his men were next to die. He told me he must do this, and that he had no choice, but I gave him his choice as he stood upon the hilltop.”

“I know my father,” Legolas said, “He would rather had fought and died, knowing he did all he could to help those people. What could you possibly have known that would have caused him to turn away?”

Galadriel walked over to a trough and picked up a silver vase. She dipped the vase into the water, filling it, and then returned to the stone basin. As she poured the vase full of water, she spoke, “The mirror shows not only the past, present and future. It can relay the outcome of ones choices, for there are many paths that lead to an end result, and each one different. So, I sent your father the vision I had seen of the result if he hadn’t gone to Erebor.” She had emptied the vase, and returned it to the shelf next to the trough.

“And what was this vision?” Legolas asked, anxious to know what changed his father’s mind.

“You,” Galadriel simply stated. She smiled and folded her hands as she returned to the basin. “I showed him his son.”

“But…” Legolas said confused, “I was not born for many years after that time.”

“Time does not matter. The fact was, Thranduil would eventually have a son, and that was most important,” she answered. Then she held her hands out in invitation. “I grant you permission to gaze into the mirror, Laiqalassë, and find what it is that your own paths lead too. You go to war soon, and I sense struggle within your heart about where your loyalty lies… with Men or Elves. But I will tell you this. If you are successful, both will benefit.”

Legolas was tempted by Galadriel’s offer to see into his own future. He moved towards the basin, though he never felt his feet move. The water called to his curiosity, and he found it hard to resist the knowing. Would he sit upon the throne that his father once held with pride? Would he fail to take back Mirkwood? And what of Calariel, his heart suddenly cried out. Would there be a future with her, and would it depend upon his success or his failure? So many questions… so many decisions, and they could be answered with just a look.

Legolas caught himself and stepped away from the pedestal. “No, I will make my decisions without the aid of the mirror.” He had never needed this kind of mystical advice before. He had always made his choices on his own, and though some of them turned out badly, he knew he was the only one responsible for them.

“Wise choice, Nephew,” said Celeborn from the steps that led to the sunken garden.

Legolas spun around, taken by surprise, “What?”

Celeborn descended and joined Galadriel where she stood, and Legolas glared at him, “You would test me like this? Is that how little faith you have in me?”

“Don’t you see?” Celeborn said in answer, “You are highly influenced by Men, and their race is easily persuaded. Isildur is a prime example of their weakness for power. Had you chosen to look into your future, it would have proven to me that they are a compelling force in your life and upon the choices you make.”

“You would compare me to a man weakened by the evil of Sauron?” Legolas said angrily. “You truly do not know me then.”

“I know that the minds of Men works differently than that of the elves. A man is too easily taken by greed. He would use the mirror unwisely, and follow the path that most benefited himself,” Celeborn declared in a calm and even tone. “I feared that they might have taught you to think the same way.”

“You know nothing of the race of Men. There are a good many that would come away from your mirror educated, not ruined. I have been raised by these men, fought by their side, and I trust them with my life. So do not tell me how their minds work, because most of them are honorable, and I am proud to have lived amongst them,” Legolas defended.

“And you are taking my people into dangerous lands,” Celeborn countered. “Should it have been for purely selfish reasons, you would not have your army.”

Legolas took two strides forward and stopped in front of Celeborn, “And if I had my choice of an army, I might not be in Lothlórien right now.” Legolas turned from Celeborn, continuing as he did, “What other reason might I have to return to Mirkwood besides wanting to see it out of the hands of the enemy? Do you think treasure sways me… the power of taking the throne? Or do you fear that once the gates of my home are open, Lothlórien will empty?”

“Enough!” Galadriel ordered. She turned to Legolas, “I asked you to look into the mirror for guidance, nothing more.” Then she turned to Celeborn, “And I did not know you were watching our discussion.” Galadriel went to the stone steps and began to climb, calling over her shoulder, “We are through here, and I’ll not have this kind of disruption in my garden again.”

Legolas and Celeborn were left in the garden, neither one willing to walk away first until Celeborn gestured to the stairs. Legolas shook his head with disgust and left. Celeborn soon followed. Nothing more was said about the incident, and the plans for attack continued over the next few days.

* * *

Word finally came and the armies gathered. The larger army was dispatched first, since they had to stay undetected. When they were close enough to their objected target, Dol Guldur, then Legolas and his smaller army headed out for Mirkwood, traveling north along the Anduin River.

Rúmil was once again amongst the troops, leading a band of elves, while Legolas captained the rest of the garrison. Calariel was under Legolas’ command, and she made sure he was never far from her sight. It was strange, but she felt a kind of responsibility for seeing to his safety. After all, it was Calariel who came upon Legolas in Fangorn, and eventually informed Lothlórien about his existence. She felt she’d been with him from the beginning, and she would see him through these troubling times. She was a soldier, and it was her job to protect the commander.

They came to their path where they would now enter the forest. Legolas drew his company to a halt and approached Rúmil to discuss their plans.

“Haldir and the others should have reached bordering lands of Dol Guldur by now,” Rúmil informed Legolas.

“Good,” Legolas said, “We’ll take a short rest here. Have your men check their weapons and supplies. Then, you and your company will flank northward. I’ll stay on the path that leads towards Mirkwood. I expect the enemy to come from the south, but we should be near the city by then.”

A scout came in quickly, riding up alongside Legolas, “We have visitors.”

Legolas looked east and indeed saw a group of about a hundred men riding towards them. The elf moved Arod through the garrison until he was out front and facing the approaching group. They carried no banner, but their fur vests, long hair and beards were recognizable to Legolas. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Legolas cursed under his breath, “Woodsmen.” He nudged Arod in the sides and they rode out to meet the clan.

Rúmil looked at Calariel, who shrugged her shoulders. “I wasn’t aware that he knew any of the Northmen other than the Rohirrim,” she said.

“I wonder why they are here,” Rúmil commented, narrowing his eyes as he looked after Legolas.

Legolas knew the familiar head of red hair, though there was a lot of grey mixed in with it now. The man had aged, but he was still tall and brawny. The elf smiled as they closed the distance, dismounted and stood face to face. “Folvar, it is so good to see you again.”

Folvar had been the leader of the Woodsmen when Legolas and his uncle came upon him after the destruction of Mirkwood. They made their village their home for a while, and after Elhadron died, Folvar and his wife fostered Legolas.

“Legolas,” Folvar said with astonishment. He stared at the elf a moment, smiled, and then embraced him as he had when Legolas was just an elfling. He released him and took a step back, looking the elf over from head to toe. “Long years has it been. Look at you. You’re no longer the gangly little thing ye once were. As tall as me now, ye are.”

“Slighter in the arms still,” said another familiar voice. Legolas looked to his left and recognized the brothers, Hafdan and Kular. It had been Kular who spoke, the youngest of the brothers, and always the jokester. “Do you still know how to shoot that thing?” he jostled, nodding to the bow on Legolas’ back.

“Of course I do,” Legolas said releasing the bow. “I learned from the best, didn’t I?” Then his face softened to gladness. “Kular, Hafdan, this is a surprise,” Legolas said, gleaming with remembrance. They too had aged, but their personalities were the same.

“Not as surprised as we are,” Hafdan said. “We hadn’t the slightest inkling that you would be amongst the company of elves.”

“We spotted your group and saw that you were elves. There’s been no sign of your kind around here since you and Elhadron came to us,” Folvar informed the Legolas. He looked carefully at the bow in Legolas’ hand and smiled. “You still have it… my old bow?”

“It’s a sturdy weapon, and it’s saved my life more than a few times,” Legolas said, and his hand absently caressed the fine wooden bow. He strapped it to his back before he continued. “What are you doing on this side of the forest?” Legolas asked. The Woodsmen lived in a village on the eastern border of the Rhovanion.

“There’s been an increase in sightings of orcs. We set out to patrol the old forest road and warn the Beornings of the danger, though I’m unsure why orc activity has broadened,” Folvar told him. “And now here you are, making your way towards… where?”

“The time has come, Folvar. I ride for Mirkwood to reclaim my home,” Legolas said assuredly.

Hafdan leaned exaggeratedly to the side, looking at the group of elves in the distance. “What do you have there, a hundred and fifty, two hundred?” He sat back straight and arched a brow at Legolas. “You seem shorthanded, if that. Mirkwood covers a good sized area. You’ll need at least double your numbers, and even then it will be a stretch.”

“Did you learn nothing from the Woodsmen, young Legolas?” Kular chaffed.

Legolas huffed a laugh at his old friends, “Anxious I may be, but a fool I am not. The rest of Lothlórien follows.”

All three Woodsmen looked at each other, and then to Legolas. Folvar spoke for them, “Lothlórien? Did I hear you correctly?”

“I have made amends… somewhat… but it is a long story, and there isn’t the time for that now. Tell me, are the forest roads watched?” Legolas asked.

“Constantly, yes, but you’ll have the best chance if you stick to the marked paths. Wander into the forest, and you’ll not want to know what you’ll meet there,” Hafdan told him.

“Even with the rest of the Galadhrim coming to your aid,” Folvar said, “It would be wise to have greater numbers going in there. The closer you get to your old home, the more ferocious the beasts, and I’m not talking about orcs. When are you prepared to leave?”

“We were only taking a brief rest, and then moving on,” Legolas said.

Folvar looked at Hafdan and Kular, an unspoken agreement between them as they nodded. Then Folvar continued, “Would you be willing to delay your travels by a day or two? We would gladly come with you and your company, but we’d like to send a messenger to the Beornings also. They will have remembered you, and I’ve no doubt that they will help.”

“You can use more men, Legolas,” Hafdan said.

“Beornings? I didn’t think they involved themselves in such matters, so long as their home was unharmed.” Legolas remembered Grimbeorn speaking on occasion to Folvar about such things and finding disapproval.

“Times have gotten worse around here. No one is exempted from the violence, not even the Beornings. So if an army comes to start war against the enemy, we will not hesitate to join,” said Folvar assuredly.

“And I’ll not deny your help,” Legolas said and clasped Folvar’s shoulder.

Folvar brought his arm up, settling it around Legolas’ shoulders. “Good, and we’ll use the time to catch up. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. Sefa and I worried about you after taking you to Rohan. She took it the worse, and always felt there was something more we could have done. I cannot wait to tell her that we’ve met again, and of the fine ellon you’ve grown to be.”

“Going to Rohan was exactly what I needed. King Théoden was beyond fair and accepted me as one of his own. Sefa should have no regrets, and I hope to travel to the village someday soon. I’d very much like to see her again.” Legolas looked past the Woodsmen to the group of men standing at a distance, curiously searching for someone. “What of Torlek? I don’t see him among the men.”

The three Woodsmen bowed their heads, and the Folvar spoke, “Alas, Torlek succumbed to age and illness. We lost him the summer before last. His wife died two years before he did, and I don’t think he ever really got over it. And his daughters had moved on. The eldest married the son of the clan leader in a neighboring village, while his youngest daughter married within our own village. Unfortunately, her husband was killed while out on patrol not long after Torlek passed.”

Legolas placed his hand on his heart and said a silent prayer in elvish. Then he addressed the Woodsmen, “Torlek was a good man, and I’m sorry to hear that I won’t get to meet him again.” To lighten the mood, Legolas changed the conversation to Hafdan, “What about you? What has changed since we last met?”

“Why, I married the girl I was courting, and we have five children,” Hafdan said valiantly. 

Kular, his brother, patted Hafdan’s shoulder, laughing and shaking his head. “He’s very proud of his family, and he should be. Three fine sons and two daughters he has.”

“How about you? Did you marry also?” Legolas asked Kular, and the Woodsman shrugged his shoulders.

“Some things have not changed much over the years,” Hafdan answered despite of his brother’s protest. “He still has all the maidens in a swoon despite all these unattached years. You’d think that would be a lesson to them, but as you can see, my handsome brother has aged well.”

“Now,” Kular complained, “don’t go making me out to sound like some kind of panderer.”

The brothers seemed to forget about the others as they engaged in conversation about Kular’s current situation. “Did you or did you not find yourself in the company of three women within one week?” Hafdan accused.

Kular’s mouth flapped like a fish gasping air. Then he regained his composure and smiled, a logical answer obviously finding its way to the forefront of his thoughts. “Well, you can’t blame me for wanting to make the right decision. All three are very eligible, and they all have traits that I find very satisfying.”

“Satisfying? Pshh, he’s weighing his decision on which should be satisfied heftily, his stomach or his cock,” Hafdan jostled.

Folvar leaned towards Hafdan and whispered, “Watch what you say in front of the elf.”

Legolas laughed at Folvar’s good intensions, “There is no need for me to hold my ears anymore. I do have some experience in these matters. I think what Kular is saying is that if he is to settle down with one of these women, he wants to make sure he’s made the right choice.”

“Exactly,” Kular agreed, glad to have someone on his side of matters.

Hafdan continued, “‘Tis the heart, I say, that is most important in making that choice. Everything else just falls into place if the soul is happy.”

Legolas nodded, “He’s got you there, Kular. Love feeds the soul.”

“Well, to tell the truth, one of the three is more special in that way,” Kular admitted. “Dalla knows me well, and we’ve known each other longest, though we’ve only recently thought of each other as more than friends.”

“Dalla,” Legolas repeated the name, “Sounds familiar.”

“You may have met her. She is Torlek’s youngest daughter,” Hafdan told him, “The one who lost her husband.”

“He was a friend of mine,” Kular explained. “I felt it was only right to help see his widow through her grief, but neither one of us expected anything to come of it.”

“What are you waiting for, man?” Legolas exclaimed. “Torlek would have been proud to call you son.”

“Aye,” Kular smiled, “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Feeling the attention had been placed on him for too long, he turned the questions onto Legolas. “What of you then? A handsome elf such as yourself, you must have the she-elves lined up in waiting. No doubt you could have your pick, eh?”

Legolas cupped his hand behind his neck and smiled sheepishly, “Well, I—”

“Prince Legolas!” Calariel called as she approached the group.

Legolas turned to her, “Calariel, come. I’d like you to meet some dear friends of mine.” He introduced her to the Woodsmen, who were seemingly stunned to see a female warrior.

Calariel bowed and made her introductions. Then she addressed Legolas, “Rúmil awaits your orders.”

“Oh yes, tell him there’s been a change in the plans. The Woodsmen will march with us, and the Beornings might join also. Folvar has sent word to Grimbeorn. We will wait until we receive an answer. Set up camp and keep guards stationed at all times. We don’t want any surprises.”

Calariel nodded to Legolas and to the Woodsmen before returning to the company of elves. Legolas could feel three sets of eyes drilling into his back, and he slowly turned to find the men with arms crossed and brows raised questioningly.

“Prince?” Folvar asked.

“What exactly happened there in Lothlórien?” Hafdan said curiously.

“And who is she?” Kular asked dreamily as he watched Calariel return to the elves.

“Yes, I am a prince, nothing happened in Lothlórien, and she is a Galadhrim soldier,” Legolas answered. “I told you it was a long story.”

Folvar looked Legolas over carefully, mystified by the news. “Then if you are a prince… your father was—”

“King Thranduil,” Legolas answered for him. “I have not known for long, but regardless of that, my mission has not changed. I have always sworn to come back to Mirkwood.”

“That’s why Elhadron wanted to keep you hidden and safe. It makes sense to me now,” Folvar said.

“What of the she-elf?” Kular asked. “Is she your promised?”

“Must you always be so inquisitive?” Hafdan chastised. “She is a soldier.”

“Did you not see the way she touched Legolas’ arm as she left?” Kular clapped Legolas on the back. “Pay attention, young prince, for the girl is smitten with you.”

The tips of Legolas’ ears blushed pink, and he bowed his head as he gave a flustered smile, “This is not news to me. And I return the feelings, but we do not know each other very well yet. She is Noldor and I… I am not.”

“Well, if anything, you have one more reason to fight,” Kular commented. “Claim your land back, Prince Legolas, and then see if the girl will be yours. But I’ll grant you this, she’ll not say no,” he jested.

“Come then,” Folvar boasted, “Let our people and yours take counsel before we march. Perhaps we’ll all learn something from one another.”

Folvar called his troops forth and they joined Legolas and the Galadhrim at their camp. In only a day or so, they would head into the Rhovanion, prepared to do battle with the creatures of the dark army.


	39. Taking Up The Crown

They entered the forest at dawn as the sun began to rise, but the darkened woods kept the army in shadow and mist, for no rays of light penetrated that forsaken place. After speaking with Folvar and the others, Legolas and Rúmil decided it was best that the company not part just yet, at least not until they drew closer to Mirkwood and the old underground palace. So far, the only enemies they came upon were of the four legged kind. Wolves usually did not attack, but they watched from their hiding places. Their eyes glowed silver as they peered out from the gloom.

“Those are their spies,” Folvar said quietly to the elves around him. “More will come soon.”

“Stay on the path,” Rúmil ordered. “Here is it wide, but where it narrows will most likely be where they will attack.”

“Keep your eyes to the canopy,” Folvar warned. “That’s where they will most likely appear.”

“Orcs?” Rúmil asked, thinking it was unusual for them to attack from the trees.

“Not orcs… spiders,” Hafdan said. “Big, hairy, ugly, smelly beasts with webbing that is too strong to tear with your bare hands. If you carry blades, keep them within close reach. Your arrows will be useless in close combat.”

The further they traveled, the thicker the air grew with dampness and decay. The scent of things long dead filled their senses. What little light there was diminished further still.

“There are strange things hanging from the trees,” said one of the Lórien elves cautiously.

Legolas looked around, noticing the absence of the wolves. “I think not even the spies come this deep into the Rhovanion.”

“The spiders are not choosy about their prey,” Hafdan informed them. “I’ve seen them eat their own kind. Most likely these creatures entered during the feasting, and became the main course.”

“Feasting?” questioned the Lórien elf.

Kular moved his horse ahead and came up next to his brother. “The spiders mate rampantly during the early summer. They need to eat constantly to keep up their strength, so they’ll capture unsuspecting victims, paralyze them with their venomous sting, and encase them in webbing. Then they’ll devour their meal at a later time.”

The elf looked at the large hanging cocoons and swallowed hard, “I hope they are through with the feasting by now.”

“Oh yes,” answered Hafdan, “These poor buggers were left here to rot. The feasting finished a while ago.”

The elf gave a sigh of relief, knowing he would not likely be served up as some creature’s meal.

“But now is an even more dangerous time,” Kular added, and the elf’s reprieve was short lived. “Now is when the spiders are most aggressive, protecting their maturing offspring.” He pointed up to the canopy of the trees just off the path.

High up within the branches and leaves were white spheres, all perfectly round and cottony, carefully attached to the branches with silky web. Folvar looked up along with his companions. “There within lies a festering army two hundred strong, if they all live. Most will become food for the others. Only the strongest will survive and one day spill forth an army of their own.” Folvar turned to the frightened elf, “So you can see why this place has grown so sinister over the years. With no one to keep the evil in check, it spreads and multiplies quickly. You better hope your Lothlórien brothers come along as we reach Mirkwood, or we will be easily outnumbered.”

“They will come,” said Legolas, as he appeared alongside the Woodsmen, “but it is not so much the spiders that worry me. Sauron will know I am here, and that threatens his plans. For years he’s seen Mirkwood as no longer a threat, and until recently, he’s thought there were no wood elves left. Because of Saruman, he knows of my existence, and he’ll be watching. If the wolves are indeed his spies, then he’ll know I have come. Perhaps this is why we’ve come so far with so few encounters.”

Calariel had joined the men, listening to their discussion. She had seen the spider sacs in the canopy, had seen the rotted corpses hanging from the trees, and she knew Legolas was right. “We are walking beneath their nursery, basically, and there has not been sight or sound of a single spider. They are gathering deeper in the forest, awaiting our arrival. Mirkwood will be teaming with danger, and we are so few.”

Legolas heard the fear in her voice, though she hid it well. He brought Arod around until he was next to Calariel. “Our plan will work,” he assured her. “Haldir and the rest will cause a diversion at Dol Guldur. The dark lord’s eye will be directed there for now.”

“It will not take long for him to realize that something stirs in Mirkwood besides his pests, and he’ll unleash his orc army upon us,” she said worriedly.

“If we can get inside the palace, I think we can ward them off until Haldir arrives.”

“You want us to barricade ourselves under the ground? What will we do if the enemy has ownership of Thranduil’s halls?” she asked.

“The creatures prefer the forest, and Sauron cannot afford his orcs to laze around inside the caves day after day. I am confident that the old halls are vacant,” he assured her. “I’ve spent my lifetime studying the layout of the caverns. I know where their weaknesses lie, and we’ll station troops in these areas. It will be easier to fight them from the caves rather than the open spaces of the forest, where we are vulnerable from all angles.”

Calariel considered his words and his plan. She slowly nodded in agreement, but her furrowed brow still showed doubt. “Is this elvish strategy or Rohirric?” she asked comically.

“Both,” Legolas answered with a sly smile.

The path did indeed narrow until the company had to pass single file. The trees grew tall on either side of the path, their branches extending out and crossing to form a high ceiling. Moss hung down like tattered sleeves, and the roots ran close to the surface of the ground. The elves and men had to carefully direct their horses so they would not trip.

There was no color anywhere to be found. The world around them was thrown into hues of greenish-grey. The forest was silent except for the sound the company made as they continued closer to the woodland realm. Yet, everyone had a sneaking feeling of being watched.

Finally, the path widened again, and the troops gathered. Legolas sniffed the air, “Rúmil,” he whispered, “Do you smell it?”

“Unmistakably, yes,” Rúmil answered, “But they are still a good way off.”

“They’re already there, waiting,” Legolas told him, “Orcs.”

Rúmil gave orders to ready weapons. The Galadhrim held their bows in hand, ready at a moment’s notice. The Woodsmen unsheathed their swords. All were anxious for battle, but the unknowing was the worst part.

The leaves above rustled slightly. Those close enough to hear turned their attention upwards. Someone gave a strangled cry, and when the elves looked around at each other, one horse was without its rider. The surrounding elves fired into the forest on both sides. Another cried out, and the company saw a Woodsman fly from his horse and get dragged into the close growing trees. More arrows flew, but whether they struck their enemy or not, no one could tell.

Men and elves alike struggled to steady their nervous horses. Folvar, Hafdan and Kular brought their men into position. Rúmil and Legolas did the same, and all eyes were on the forest. Calariel was at the rear of the company, keeping watch upon the path behind them. Shadows moved in the eerie mist. Something was coming up the path. She narrowed her eyes until the shadows took shape. Long, sleek, hinged legs supporting bulbous bodies, they were unmistakable.

“Spiders!” Calariel called out.

Legolas rode back to join her, and saw for himself the army of arachnids approaching. He called out orders for everyone to take their battle stance. As the spiders advanced, they spit their sticky webbing, spraying everything within their reach.

“Don’t get caught in their web,” Folvar warned.

Legolas raised his bow and aimed. “Company! Fire!” he commanded.

A spray of arrows flew towards the approaching spiders. Those that were hit made a terrible ear piercing screech as they died. The rest kept coming, and Legolas ordered another release. More spiders fell and the first wave was severely lessened.

“Legolas!” Folvar called, and the elf turned to see the Woodsmen looking up.

Legolas followed their line of vision and saw more spiders lowering from the tree canopy, attacking from above. He commanded his army to take aim upwards, and arrows flew into the trees. Spiders the size of a large dog fell to the ground, twisting and screaming as they died. Then suddenly, the forest around them came to life as more spiders crawled out of shadows.

“There are too many,” Calariel observed.

“We cannot stay here!” Legolas yelled. “We must get to the caverns!”

The company could no longer carefully lead their horses along the old path. Now they had to run for their lives and head for the gates of Mirkwood. As they rode, elves fired their bows, and the men slashed anything within range of their swords. Some fell prey to the spiders. Other’s horses tripped on gnarled roots and succumbed to the approaching enemy.

The terrain sloped dangerously down as the path disappeared. Now they were in the forest of Mirkwood. Riding upon horseback would do them no good. The rest of the company came to the same conclusion and everyone dismounted. They would have to get to the caverns on foot, and hope their horses survived on their own.

Legolas jumped down from Arod, “Lead them safely away. I do not think you are their targets, but be wary. Take to the path again,” he said in Sindarin. The bond between elf and horse was strong, and Arod did not hesitate. He cried out with a demanding whicker, ears pinned down, and head thrown back as he circled around gathering the other horses. They left their riders behind, and Legolas watched as he commanded his troops to go forward. Soon, the horses disappeared into the haze and they were gone, hopefully to safety.

The forest was now a battleground of men and elves fighting spiders. Legolas abandoned his bow for his long knives, slashing at the enemy’s legs. Once they were disabled, he impaled their engorged bodies, spilling black blood upon the forest floor. Everyone fought ferociously as they continued down the sloping trail.

The surrounding forest changed to something familiar to Legolas, and he was thrown back in time to the day Mirkwood burned. The fires were long distinguished, but the damage still remained. Here, the trees were black and broken, protruding twisted and gnarled from the ground, long dead and decaying. To his surprise, it smelled like musty smoke and char, even after all these years. The forest of Mirkwood was still useless fragments, burnt remains, and unrecognizable. Nothing grew on this forsaken ground. It was a graveyard of a lost realm, and Legolas felt his heart break.

He remembered the day he and Elhadron had escaped. They had climbed up and up it seemed, until they crested a hill and looked back to see their home engulfed in flames. Now he was descending into the same place, no longer the frightened elfling, no longer mourning the loss of his people or his family. Now, his heart wanted revenge, and his palms itched for the feel of his blade sinking into orc flesh. He knew he wouldn’t have to wait long, for their putrid smell was growing stronger.

The sound of rushing water caught his attention, and Legolas knew they were here. Up ahead were the rushing waters of the Enchanted River. “Make your way to the river, but do not go into the water!” Legolas called out.

Rúmil, Calariel and Folvar heard his orders, and passed word along to the rest of the garrison. The soldiers fought their way to the river, killing spiders as they hurried along. Most made it to the water, but some were seized and fatally wounded by the spider’s stinging venom. The company could not afford to lose too many. Their numbers were small against the ever growing population of spiders.

Calariel fought alongside Legolas, firing arrows at the approaching insects. As they leapt into the air to attack, she would hit them in their vulnerable abdomens. While she kept those at bay, Legolas wielded his long knives, slashing and impaling the ones that got too close. Finally they were at the water’s edge.

“We can go no further,” said Calariel with concern.

“No, but now they can only come from one direction,” Legolas said as he killed another beast, it’s legs flailing about wildly as it screeched its last dying breath. Finding a break in the activity, he looked up and down the length of the river. Some were dangerously close to the water and he warned them again. “Be wary of the water. It was once enchanted with a sleeping spell. I don’t know if the spell is still active, but—”

Just as he was giving a warning, a spider leapt forward through the air, landing on an unsuspecting elf. The force of the spider’s weight caused the elf to stumble and fall into the water. Instantly, elf and spider ceased to move.

“Looks like it still works,” Kular yelled from somewhere down the line.

Legolas watched as the strong current started to pull the bodies away from the bank. He sprang into action, rushing to the scene. “Grab him!” he shouted, “or he’ll drown.”

The men closest to the unconscious elf started into the water, already forgetting about the enchantment, but their companions caught them by their arms. They looked around frantically for something to use to stop the elf from floating away. Someone picked up a long stick and reached out, barely grabbing hold of the belt around the elf’s waist.

“Pull him in!” someone demanded.

The man with the stick tried desperately to pull the elf back to the shore without stepping into the water himself, but the belt came loose and the elf floated further out away from the shore. Legolas arrived, pacing back and forth as he tried to think of a way to retrieve the elf.

“It’s no use,” someone called, “He’s too far out. We cannot reach him.”

Suddenly, there was a large brown shape plummeting into the water, knocking those around it to the ground. It was a massively large bear. He clamped his jaw into the material of the elf’s long grey tunic, and struggled to stay afloat, becoming slower and more lethargic.

Legolas recognized the animal not to be any ordinary bear, but one of the Beornings, shape-shifted into his animal form. He acted quickly, grabbing the large hindquarters of the beast. The men around him did the same, and they pulled the bear, along with the captured elf, to the river bank. The bear was in a deep slumber, but the elf was not breathing.

“Move!” Calariel shouted, shoving the onlookers aside. She dropped to her knees beside the elf, pushed his gold hair from his face and put an ear to his mouth. “He needs air to his lungs. They are full of water.”

“Can you breathe for him?” Legolas asked.

She looked at him, confused, “What?”

“I saw a healer of Rohan do it once. Pinch his nose and blow into his mouth.”

Calariel did as Legolas suggested. It didn’t work at first. Not enough air was going in. Then she figured out how to cover the elf’s mouth completely with her own. She exhaled as hard as she could, and the elf’s chest rose. She did it again, and water came out along with the air she had just breathed into him. Suddenly, the elf’s eyes flew open, and he started coughing and spitting water out of his lungs. Calariel instinctively rolled him onto his side. She looked up at Legolas with an amazed smile. “It worked.”

With the rescue of the elf, they hadn’t seen what happened around them. Legolas looked around and saw a small army of about fifty bears and Beornings, giants of men. Those still in human form brandished oversized axes and clubs. They rushed into the advancing spiders, chopping and clubbing anything that threatened them. The spiders were no match for the bear-men. This gave the Woodsmen and the Galadhrim enough time to regroup and join the Beornings in the fight. They moved away from the water’s edge, but still kept it to their backs.

“Legolas!” called Rúmil, “Where is the gate to the caverns?”

Legolas got his bearings, “It is upstream still… not far from here though.”

“We must make our way then,” Rúmil answered.

“Go! Follow the river north until we come to the bridge,” Legolas ordered.

The demand to move north was repeated among the troops, and soon they were fighting and going in the right direction. Legolas quickly moved along the garrison until he was at the front of the large moving body of men and elves, slaying fell beasts as he went. Calariel was not far behind. It did not take them long and they could see the entrance to Thranduil’s halls coming into view. But once they got there, their hopes faded. The stone bridge was broken and in ruin. Just on the other side of the raging river was the doorway into the caverns.

The forest was alive with the primal shouts of those fighting for their lives, but the spiders still came. Legolas watched as one spider dropped down from a tree, landing on a Woodsman, its sleek sharp stinger impaling the man’s chest. Then another spider tried the same technique, only to be caught and mauled by a bear.

Rúmil and Folvar came up to Legolas, all three still fighting as they discussed their options.

“Have you noticed there are no enemies across the river?” Rúmil asked, firing his arrow into a nearby tree.

“They cannot get across,” Legolas said.

“And neither can we,” admitted Folvar with despair.

“We are not out of hope just yet,” said Legolas as he thought up a plan. “I’ve studied the layout of the palace. Before the stone bridge was built, there was a drawbridge. It is still there, according to the maps, but I don’t know if it is still in working condition.”

Just then, Calariel came to them with dire news, “We have more than spiders to worry about. Orcs approach.”

“We have to get to the caves,” said Folvar, knowing this was their only chance at fighting the enemy with their dwindling numbers.

“We need a boat to get across the river, which we don’t have, but even if we did, we could not navigate the current. It’s much too strong here,” said Rúmil, cynically.

Suddenly, a thought came to Legolas. “Why didn’t I think of it before?” he scolded himself. He turned to his companions. “I think I can get into the palace, but you’ll have to hold the enemy off until I can get the bridge down.”

Folvar nodded, “We’ll regroup and put our energy towards the incoming orc army. I’ll speak to the Beornings, and post them where they are needed most.”

“I’ll have my archers ready to send a hail of arrows down upon the enemy. That should deplete their front lines,” Rúmil suggested.

“Use the river to your advantage,” Legolas reminded them.

“And pray that Haldir and the rest of our people come soon,” Rúmil added.

Legolas strapped his bow to his back and took his long knives into his hands, prepared to make his way to the secret tunnel. He looked around the forest, trying his best to remember the landscape and the position he was in when he saw the gates in the distance. He had been an elfling at the time, scared and in shock, mourning the death of his father as Elhadron pulled him along to safety. That time in his life was etched into memory, and he used it now to help him navigate.

Then, there was a hand upon his shoulder. “I’m coming with you,” Calariel demanded.

He started to protest, but the fire in her eyes and her pugnacious look told him he’d already lost the argument. Besides, there was no time to quibble. Instead, he nodded, “Let’s go then. Stay close and be prepared.”

She tossed her sword from hand to hand, blade flashing silver as she showed off her skills. “I’m ready.”

They moved along with stealth and grace, using fallen trees and boulders to help hide them as they went. They needed to reach the secret tunnel before they were seen by orcs, who would try to follow them. There was no room to fight once they were into the small space of the hidden way. They made their way with little conflict, up the hill. Legolas looked frantically for the entrance, checking every dark hole that seemed the right size.

“Legolas,” Calariel warned, “Orcs!” She kept watch while Legolas searched. “Hurry, they’re closing in.”

Just when it seemed he would never find it, his hand pushed through what looked like vines growing down the side of a boulder. It was hollow behind the foliage. “I’ve found it!” he called to Calariel.

She stepped backwards towards Legolas, keeping her eyes upon the path where the sound of orcs was growing louder. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Legolas disappear into the vines. Standing guard, she watched a moment more, making sure nothing took notice of them, when she felt Legolas’ hand take hold of her tunic and pull her into the vines.

The entrance was big enough to stand in, but it was as black as pitch. Legolas silently cursed his forgetfulness. He’d had flint and a small hand torch in his bag, which was still strapped to Arod. They would have to find their way in the dark. It would take them much longer to reach the other end of the tunnel, and it was already a long way, from what he remembered.

Suddenly, a pale blue light illuminated the dark cave, and Legolas found Calariel in possession of a strange glowing glass orb that hung from a chain around her neck. She laughed with amazement as she pulled it from the inside of her tunic, “It works just like the Lady said.”

“Galadriel gave that to you?” he asked.

“She met with me before we left, and gave me this gift, to show us the way, she had said.” Calariel stared at the light, which seemed to swirl and sparkle with life inside of the small vial that contained it.

Outside, the sound of heavy feet and clanking armor passed by. Legolas cupped his hands around the vial and Calariel’s hand, extinguishing the light before someone noticed. They were instantly engulfed in darkness, but the warmth of Legolas’ hands upon hers brought her comfort. She felt herself drawn to him, contouring against his body. She reached up with her loose hand and felt for his face in the dark, touching his cheek, feeling the softness of his hair on the tips of her fingers. He loosened his grip on the vial, allowing just enough light so that he could see her face. Her cheek was smudged with mud from the river bank, and one of her braids had come loose, but she was still the most beautiful elf he’d ever seen. Legolas cocked his head and captured her lips. She answered him swiftly, allowing his tongue entrance. With all that had happened recently, preparing for battle and the long journey to Mirkwood, neither one had had any romantic thoughts for the other, but they gave over for just one quick moment within the secret tunnel in the safety of darkness. Then, the moment had passed, and it was time to continue into the narrowing tunnel.

Calariel took the necklace with the vial, putting it around his neck, and Legolas lead the way on hands and knees. “I hope you’re not afraid of small spaces,” he said to lighten the mood.

“Hah,” she laughed, “You’d not ask that if you had ever seen the training barracks. Sleeping arrangements were somewhat… challenging. This is a luxury compared to that.” Her hand landed on something slimy and cold, “Although it was much cleaner,” she said with disgust.

Legolas stopped and held the light towards her so that she could examine her hand, “Whatever that was, I think it’s dead now.” Some kind of glutinous matter covered her palm. In the blue light, it looked grey, but she couldn’t be sure what color it really was.

“It was probably a slug of some kind. They tend to like dark dank places like this,” he informed her.

They kept on for a while longer, neither one speaking as they felt they were getting closer to their destination.

“Legolas, have you thought about what you might find once we reach the caverns?”

“I know the one thing we won’t find is orcs. Mirkwood was not attacked for its treasure or for the inhabitation of its caves. There was only one reason my home was destroyed, and that was to eliminate an entire race of elves,” he said with conviction.

“All but one,” Calariel said from the dark place of the tunnel. “But have you ever really thought about the invasion? I mean, about how they managed to get across the river? You told me the orcs rode on great beasts that were strong enough to navigate the rough waters, and then they entered through the wine cellars, Mirkwood’s most vulnerable spot.”

“Yes, and they were immune to the water’s spell,” Legolas admitted, considering her comment.

“Not exactly the kind of thing that orcs have the ability to accomplish on their own. Someone cast a reversal spell on the beasts,” Calariel said.

“That is what I have assumed,” said Legolas as he gave it deeper thought.

“A wizard’s spell,” Calariel added softly.

“Saruman?” he asked inquisitively.

“It could be no other,” she whispered in the dark.

“Then that would mean he was corrupted by Sauron longer than I had thought, and it was the White Wizard who ordered the death of the wood elves.” Legolas stopped moving and considered what this meant. “Do you think he knew that I escaped?”

“He could have had the orcs search for your body, and found none, but I don’t think he was ever completely sure that you had survived.”

Legolas thought back to the time when he and Elhadron had lived in the Woodsmen village, and of the attack by the orcs that took his uncle’s life. It had been more than coincidence that the orcs appeared, he’d just never realized it until now. “Oh, he was sure of it,” Legolas said, and then resumed crawling through the tunnel.

It must have been around that time when Gríma set out on a routine mission and was assaulted by the Nazgûl, who captured him and brought the terrified man to Orthanc, where Saruman gave him an ultimatum. The wizard poisoned his mind, recruited Gríma, and then put him on the scent of the lost elfling. Legolas imagined his surprise when he returned to Rohan and found the elf living amongst his own people. And then he betrayed them all.

The tunnel opened to a space where they could finally stand. They were wet and dirty, smudged with filth and slime that befouled their clothing, but they were fairly rested and ready for whatever they would find.

“Where does this lead to?” Calariel questioned.

“It should take us to the King’s audience chamber. Behind the dais was a tapestry covering a hidden door.” He lifted the small vial of light and searched the open space, finding the door still intact. “Here it is.” He carefully pushed the half door and thrust the vial into the chamber. Then they entered the room and stood.

Legolas hadn’t seen this place since he was an elfling on that fateful night, and everything looked strange to him. He had played in this room when he was young, and it seemed so much bigger than it did now. It had been so much more colorful too, but now, everything was covered in a layer of dust throwing the room into a monotone color.

There was a torch on the wall, and Legolas took it from its bracket. It was still usable, having been dipped in pitch, but never lit. Calariel was already looking around for a flint stone and found one quickly. She struck it on the stone wall, causing it to emit sparks. Legolas lowered the torch to her, and it caught fire quickly, illuminating the room with a golden glow. The two elves walked out from behind the dais and looked around the room. Legolas attention went first to the last place where he’d seen his father alive. He expected to find his father’s remains, but all that lay on the dusty floor was his sword. He laid down his bow and his long knives, picked up his father’s sword and studied it. The blade was dull and nicked from the battle of his father’s last stand. Legolas’ hand wrapped around the grip, fitting his palm perfectly. He swung the blade left and right, feeling its weight. It was a good blade, he thought, lightweight and impeccably balanced.

“My father’s hand held this sword innumerable times,” he said to himself, feeling a connection with him.

“Legolas,” Calariel called to him with a somber tone.

He turned to her and saw the king’s throne. There he found his father’s skeleton, still swathed in his battle raiment. His skull was tilted, as though looking at his lap. Within the bony fingers was a withered crown of berries, the leaves brown, the fruit shriveled and only the intertwined vines still intact, but grey and stiff.

Legolas went to the throne and knelt at the base of the altar. His hands fell to his lap as he looked up at the empty sockets where he’d once seen the blue depths of his father’s eyes looking at him with love and admiration. Back then, he’d not known his father was a king. When he learned the truth, he thought it might change his feelings for him, but to look upon him now, he knew nothing had changed. Thranduil the King or the loving father… he was one in the same.

“Ada,” he whispered as a single tear escaped the corner of his eye, leaving a trail through the grime that covered his cheek. He prayed silently for his father, long dead, and wept for this one-sided reunion. “Do you think he knows I’m here?” he asked Calariel as she came to stand by Legolas’ side.

“I think he always knew you would return,” she said, and she gestured to the crown. “You have taken up his sword. Now take up his crown and claim your homeland, Laiqalassë Thranduilion.”

Legolas hesitated as he looked down at his father’s lap. He was almost afraid to disturb anything, as it had been untouched for almost thirty years. Instead, his hand lightly touched the padded shoulder of the soldier’s uniform, remembering the many times he’d laid his head on this very spot, to drift into dreams as his father told him tales of great warriors and the beasts destined to die at their hands. “How will I ever take his place? How will I ever bring Mirkwood out of the dark after being in ruins for so long?”

“You ask how, but it has already begun with the elves and the men who are fighting right now. There are more than just you who wish to see this accomplished,” she answered. Then she stepped away from Legolas and the dais, to allow him this moment for himself. “He holds the crown, awaiting the rightful heir so that he can pass it on.”

Legolas reached for the crown, carefully untangling it from his father’s fingers. He brought it up, blowing the dust from the branches. The movement made the king’s skull tilt back slightly, as though he was watching his son take up his crown. Legolas placed it upon his head, and a plume of dust rose into the air. The prince closed his eyes, and he was suddenly paralyzed, thrown into a vision from the past. When he opened his eyes, he was still in the audience chamber, but everything was in color and light. The smell of fresh roses and incense mingled with the strong iron tinge of blood. He looked to the doorway and saw his father’s body, as it lay in the threshold where the attack happened. Legolas knew he and Elhadron were gone by this time. Now he was seeing what happened after their escape, when he thought his father would follow soon, and join him and his uncle.

Orcs manifested into the scene, hovering over the body of Thranduil, waiting to see if he would fight anymore. Suddenly, three guards entered the room and began fighting with the unsuspecting orcs. Obviously, they thought there were no more survivors. Tired from the fight with the previous guards and the King, the orcs were outmatched by the new guards and they were quickly slain. Only when the guards were sure that the threat was gone did they go to their King. They thought he was dead as they stood around his bloody body. Then, one guard called out and pointed to the Thranduil’s hand, seeing his fingers twitch. One rolled him onto his back while the other’s searched the room for anything that they could use to begin healing. Thranduil choked and sputtered, blood running down from the corner of his mouth. He waved off their efforts, knowing he was beyond saving.

“Help me to my throne,” he said. He could not stand, and could barely sit up, so the guards carefully lifted him and carried him in his royal chair. One of them started to retrieve the King’s sword, but Thranduil shook his head. “Leave it and bring me my crown.”

Legolas could see the fresh crown clearly now, the branches a rusty brown, the leaves dark green and the berries bursting with bright red. The guard took it from the table where it sat and handed it to the King. He put it on his head, and in Sindarin, said the words that the fading King says to his heir, handing over his title, his throne, and his kingdom. But the ritual would not be complete, for the prince was not there to accept his role, and all that remained was a father’s dying wish that his son would one day return.

Thranduil removed the crown and laid it in his lap. “Go now, and leave me. I’ve not long for this world, but you still have a chance to escape. And if you find my son, tell him that I love him with all my heart.”

The guards bowed and reluctantly left the chamber. As Legolas watched, he knew they would not make it out of Mirkwood. Their fates were sealed. They would not survive.

Thranduil rest his head on the back of the throne, took one final breath, and upon releasing it, whispered, “Almárëa.”

Legolas felt himself falter where he stood. The colors faded back to the dusty grey of the current scene, and the flesh and blood that was his father morphed back to the skeleton before him now. He felt an arm wrap around his waist and found Calariel there, supporting him.

“Are you alright?” she asked worriedly.

“I saw my father,” Legolas said, “He performed the crowning. He meant for me to find him here… to finish the ceremony.”

“And have you?” Calariel asked.

A new voice joined the conversation, “Ah yes, he did it splendidly.”

Legolas and Calariel spun around to see who was with them in the chamber. Standing in the threshold of the doorway was a forgotten foe. Tall and shapely, looking sleek dressed all in black, it was none other than Róta.


	40. Blood Offerings

“Who are you?” Calariel demanded, having no idea who this woman was.

“I’m an old friend, wouldn’t you say so, Legolas,” she said with a smile of malcontent. “Or should I say, King Laiqalassë.”

“Róta,” Legolas seethed, her name bitter on his tongue. “What are you doing here?”

“And how did you find your way in?” Calariel asked. The woman’s name was familiar to her. Legolas had spoken briefly of the blacksmith who accused him of a crime that no elf could commit. She started towards the woman, but Legolas called out to her.

“Stay away from her, Calariel.”

“Yes,” Róta hissed, “You should listen to him or you might regret your decision.”

Calariel moved with grace and speed as she released her bow from her back and nocked an arrow, stretching the bowstring taut. “I think you are the only one here that should be regretful.” 

She loosed her arrow, but Róta perceived what she was about to do, and ducked out of the way. The woman pulled a pair of throwing knives from her boot and skillfully threw one at Calariel. It went into Calariel’s thigh, and she cried out in pain as she fell to one knee.

Legolas reached for his bow, and then realized that he’d shed his weapons when he entered the chamber. They were lying on a bench across the room. Then he remembered his father’s sword lying on the floor. While Róta was watching to see what Calariel would do, he tried to get to the weapon, but one of Róta’s knives hit him in the shoulder, and he fell backwards.

“Not so fast, my liege,” Róta said mockingly, “We have some unfinished business, you and I.” She kicked the sword away and stepped on Legolas’ chest. Then she leaned down, and grabbed the handle of the knife in Legolas’ shoulder, twisting it.

Legolas clenched his teeth and cried out. He grabbed her booted ankle with his other hand, but the pain Róta caused with the knife was incapacitating him.

Somehow, Calariel managed to get up, and she took up her Galadhrim bow. “Stay away from him,” she growled and released an arrow.

The tip just grazed Róta’s upper arm, cutting the tight fitted sleeve of her shirt, and leaving a bloody slice in her flesh. The blacksmith reached into her other boot, and pulled out two more throwing knives. Calariel nocked another arrow, but she was not as fast as Róta. The knives impaled the elleth, one in the chest and one in her arm. Calariel dropped her bow, mouth hanging agape as she looked down at the knife protruding from her chest. Her eyes fell upon Legolas as she sunk to the floor.

Legolas found his anger gave him new strength, and while Róta was focused on Calariel, he grabbed the knife, pulling it from his shoulder. Then he jabbed it into Róta’s thigh, catching her by surprise. The woman shrieked in agony and stumbled away from Legolas. He stood from the ground, weaponless, and moved towards his father’s sword. Róta was too focused on the knife in her leg, and when she looked up, she saw Legolas arming himself with the old sword. The blacksmith let out a primal yell, clearly annoyed that her plans were altered. She was closest to Legolas’ bow, and picked it up along with some arrows from his quiver. She held two arrows in her teeth while she nocked the one in her hand, and aimed at Legolas.

He glanced at Calariel lying lifeless on the floor, raised the sword and charged at Róta, but she had the upper hand with the bow, fired and hit him in the side. The arrow sliced through his flesh, the tip protruding from the back. She’d stuck him clear through. Róta reached up to take another arrow from her mouth, but dropped it. Seeing his chance, Legolas fought through the pain and advanced towards her. She managed to nock the last arrow and fire, hitting Legolas in the shoulder, opposite the knife wound. The power of being hit at such close range forced him to fall backwards, and he hit his head on the corner of the stone step of the dais. Stars flashed in his vision, and the light seemed to fade. Róta was on him quickly, straddling his body and shaking him.

“Stay awake now,” she commanded. “I wouldn’t want you to miss the ceremony.” From a leather sheath at her side, Róta pulled out the familiar curved dagger with the runes of the black speech engraved upon the undulating blade.

Legolas forced himself to stay conscious, lifting his head to get a better look at the dagger. “Gríma… had that last. He… he stabbed Saruman. How do you… come to… have it?”

“Fool! Where do you think I’ve been holed up all this time?” She spat angrily. She lifted the blade and looked longingly at the runes. “I also know what it does, how it works, and of the power it will give me.” Her eyes left the blade and stared intently into Legolas’ blue orbs. “I forged it after all, though Saruman etched the black speech onto the blade. Gríma promised me the position of captain of the Rohirrim once he became king. All he cared about was the shield maiden, and gaining her hand in marriage, but I wanted control of their army. And then you ruined any chance of that happening. Gríma was right, you should never have been in Rohan.”

Legolas struggled to get free of Róta, but he was too weak from his injuries and his head was spinning. Róta, however, decided not to take any chances, knowing all too well the hidden strength of the elves. She took off her belt and strapped his hands above his head, tying the other end of the belt to the leg of the king’s heavy wooden throne. Then she seductively lowered herself onto his waist, swirling her hips and flicking her tongue. She moaned salaciously as she brought the dagger back into view. “Bring back any memories, lover? I still have the scars on my back as proof of that night. Mmm... if I had it to do all over again, I would not change a thing. You were a beast. It’s just a shame you could not be more like me. We could have made a great pair ruling the Riddermark together.” Róta leaned forward until her breasts were pushing against his chest. “There’s still time to change your mind. We could consummate our agreement right here.” Róta glanced at Calariel, “I doubt she would mine. Who is she anyways, your latest whore?”

Legolas lifted his head and spit in her face, “You should have hung from the gallows.”

Róta wiped her face on her sleeve and laughed maniacally, “I was too smart to let that happen. Anyways, back to business, lover, huh?” She took the blade of the dagger and brought it to Legolas’ neck. “I’ve got better things planned for you now. The best thing I did was escape to Orthanc. Fools, they did not think I knew their plans, but I spent my time listening from the shadows. I had to figure out what my position would be amongst them, and I’ll admit that I was clueless, until Théoden and the rest of his company came looking for retribution from Saruman. Imagine how shocked I was to learn of your true heritage, that you were an heir to the throne of Mirkwood. I wasn’t sure just how I could use that information to my advantage, not until Gríma’s little stunt failed.” She sat up, grinding her hips, moving the point of the dagger lower, where it threatened to cut the leather ties of his leggings. “I watched you shoot him. You’re an excellent marksman, among other things.” Her fingers fumbled with his ties. “I wonder if I can rouse you as easily as I did before.”

Legolas struggled against his bindings, “Get off you filthy bitch!”

Róta was enjoying her game of toying with him. She rolled her eyes at his protests, “Virtuous elves… ugh!” Then she narrowed her eyes and smiled fiendishly. “But you play by your own set of rules, don’t you? Living with the Rohirrim men, they must have taught you their ways. And you’re a wood elf too. Hmm, that’s a dangerous combination.” She nodded her head, gesturing towards Calariel, still lifeless on the floor behind where Róta knelt on top of Legolas. “That one is Noldor, no doubt. You’ll not be seeing her quim any time soon. Such a waste. Here you are, a most magnificent lover, and she’ll not give you but a kiss, I assume. How can you stand it? Oh well, it doesn’t matter now… you know… since she’s dead and all. Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”

Legolas was tired of her disgusting comments, and his anger was escalating quickly, but he knew this was part of Róta’s plan. “What do you want with me, Róta, to kill me and take the throne?” he said looking at the chair he was tied to. Then he laughed, “And what will you rule here? There is nothing. Mirkwood is no more.”

“I could ask you the same thing, lover,” she countered. “You are but one, so who will join you here?”

“There are those who will follow me, which is more than you can say for yourself.”

“Ah,” she smiled, “There you are wrong. Do you remember those men in Rohan… the ones who carried out Gríma’s orders? Where do you think they came from? Do you think Wormtongue persuaded them with his winning personality? No, love, it was me. I did all the dirty work. All he had to do was keep Théoden under that spell. Those were my people, and there are more who will jump at the chance to start a new colony.” She cocked her head to the side as she looked down at Legolas. “You never knew where I came from, did you? I thought they would have figured it out, the shield maiden or that spoiled brat who spied on me and turned me in. Oh well, I guess it wasn’t important.”

Róta shifted her weight so that she straddled Legolas’ thighs. Her fingers twisted in the leather ties, coming dangerously close to undoing them. She worked slowly as she continued. “I was born in Harad, raised as a slave girl, trained as a dancer, destined for the life of a courtesan. Rather than wallow in misery, I used my womanly powers to carefully infiltrate several Southron tribes. I became a favorite of many clan leaders, and they trusted me as long as I kept them satisfied. It wasn’t difficult, since I was gifted with all the right tools,” she said as she squeezed her breasts in illustration. “So imagine what they’ll do when I return to Harad with my new title as Queen of Mirkwood. They’ll grant me an army of my choosing, so long as I use my power to rule the Rhovanion. Even the dimwitted beasties will have to answer to me.”

“You’ll never make it back to Harad. There is a war going on outside, and my soldiers will see you for what you are. You’ll be dead before you reach the forest road,” Legolas threatened.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ll leave here as leader of the orc army that should just be arriving about now.” Róta laughed, “You are outnumbered, and your pitiful Woodsmen and Galadhrim will soon meet the same end as the wood elves did all those years ago. This time, though, you will not sneak off.” Her hand slid into his leggings and wrapped around his softened member. She started kneading him, and could feel the blood instantly rush and pulse as it slowly grew. “That’s the one thing about the male species of any race. All it takes is an expert touch to bring them standing, whether they want it or not.”

Legolas twisted, trying to throw Róta off of him, but her thighs were clenched tight and she would not budge. She moaned and licked her lips, “You know, there is no particular way to finish the ritual except to spill your blood with this dagger. I can kill you any way I wish.” Her hand quickened its rhythm as Legolas lay beneath her, unable to keep himself from hardening. Róta was in control of that.

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen a man die as he came. I have, and it’s the most intriguing thing I’ve ever witnessed.” She mocked a surprised look, “Oh, I did not tell you that I dabbled as an assassin. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I could not pass up the reward. He was in very much the same situation that you are now, except for the fact that he wanted to be restrained. He made my job much too easy. And you know me, I like to play with my victims before I strike. I took him in my hand, and I stroked him like this,” she said as her hand moved from base to tip. “And just as he spilled his seed, I slowly pushed my dagger into his heart. He screamed and moaned, feeling pleasure as death took him. I’ve often wondered which one he felt more, his orgasm or my dagger.”

Róta, brought the dagger back into view. She glanced down at his growing arousal. “Too bad I couldn’t have ridden you once more, but I’m afraid things are about to get quite messy here.” Her hand left his member, but she moved her body up and straddled his hardness. Then she brought the point of the dagger to his chest, cutting his tunic open as she prepared her sacrifice.

Legolas tried to get his hands free, but the belt only tightened on his wrists, cutting off his circulation. His arms were tingling from lack of blood. His other wounds had weakened him. He was completely helpless. If there was just something he could do, some way to distract her. . .

“Róta,” he whispered, “I remember that night too… the charge that pulsed between us, the feel of your body against mine. You were so wanton, so demanding.”

She didn’t seem fazed by his comments. “I had a job to do and I did it,” she said without emotion.

“No, there was something more. I felt it and I know you did too. Don’t deny it, Róta. Something happened that night, some kind of connection, a bond of sorts.”

Her attention was distracted by his words and she stopped what she was doing. “You were so overpoweringly strong. I’d never been with someone who I felt could break me like a twig.”

“You have never been with an elf before. Men are weak compared to the virility of the elves,” Legolas whispered convincingly. “Admit it, Róta. No man could ever satisfy you, now that you’ve felt the power of an elf.”

She allowed him to capture her in his stare, and Legolas used his gaze to ensnare her. “No, they can’t. I’ve tried to find that lust, but no one compares. It was good, wasn’t it?”

Legolas feigned pleasure, “You are strong, Róta. Any other woman would have been screaming for me to stop, but you wanted more. There’s not been anyone like you since.”

“Not even the she-elf?”

“No, not even close. It could be like that again, Róta,” he said while looking deep into her eyes. “Every night, I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll think you’ve been ripped apart. Then I’ll shove you up against the wall and take you until your back is raw. And just when you think you can take no more, I’ll have you from behind and ride you until you think you’ll split in two.”

Róta sat staring at Legolas, every word making images in her mind. Her chest was heaving as she breathed heavy. “By the gods, Legolas, you know how to make a woman slick.” She leaned down, lips parted, eyes hungry with desire. And just as she was about to devour his mouth, she stopped, the spell broken, and the dagger at his side. “But unfortunately, I have a ritual to complete.”

Legolas felt the tip of the dagger puncture his skin and slowly trail along one of his ribs. He yelled out in pain and Róta started reciting the black speech. She sat up and watched the blood trickle from the slice. Then she stopped and angled the point at a place where she knew the blade would slide in and stab the heart. Legolas looked up to see her eyes roll up until only the whites showed. The ancient language flowed from her tongue easily. Then a white hot pain stabbed his chest as Róta began pushing the blade into his flesh. He cried out for her to stop, but she was oblivious to anything happening, as though she was in a trance. And just when he thought there was no hope, he heard the sweetest sound of all.

“Get… off… of… him… you… BITCH!” Calariel cried as she thrust one of Legolas’ long knives through Róta’s back.

Legolas saw his blade protrude from the front of the blacksmith’s chest. Her hand released the handle of the dagger, and she looked down, watching the red blade reverse its path as Calariel pulled the knife out. Blood rapidly pooled at the wound, and Róta’s hands clutched at her chest. She gasped for air, making an awful wheezing sound. Then she fell to the side, rolling off of Legolas, and did not move again.

Calariel stood there, stunned and speechless as she watched Róta die. Then her strength was spent and she fell to her knees. With what ability she had left, she crawled her way to Legolas, and untied the belt that bound his hands. She looked at him, pain clearly written on her face, and collapsed.

“Calariel, no!” he called to her as he forced himself to sit up. He leaned over her where she lay, and smoothed the loose hair from her face. “Stay with me now. I still need you. I need your help.”

Her breathing was shallow and a tear fell from the corner of her eye. “You have to go, Legolas, go and lower the bridge. Get our people to safety. Leave me. I can do nothing more.”

“Calariel, please,” he begged, but her eyes had closed and she heard him no more.

* * *

Legolas reluctantly left Calariel, and found the forgotten entrance to the caverns. The mechanism for the drawbridge seemed intact, but it hadn’t been used in ages. The door was hinged on one side, and chains hung down from the other side. Legolas grasped the heavy chains and pulled, but nothing happened. The metal was rusted seizing the hinges. He tried again, using what strength he had, overcoming the pain of his wounds. The sound outside of the heavy wooden door was disheartening. War was well underway on the other side.

Legolas closed his eyes, breathed deep and said the prayer that his late friend Théodred would recite on the eve of battle. “Pray, Béma, give me strength of body, will of heart and peace of mind.”

He grasped the chain once more and pulled. The door started to give. Dust and dirt fell away as it started to lower. Legolas could feel every muscle in his body burn, and he roared as he fought through the pain in his shoulder and side. A vision of Calariel lying on the cold stone floor of the audience chamber gave him the last bit of strength he needed. Suddenly the drawbridge moved easier as gravity took over. The chains rattled and the hinges creaked and moaned. The great wooden door landed with a heavy thud on an ancient stone roadway that jetted out over the river. Legolas shaded his eyes as the light from the outside world flooded the entrance. He ran to the threshold and looked out at the scene before him. Orcs had assailed his company, and they fought with weapons in hand and the river to their backs. Glancing to the right, he could see the bulk of the army at the broken bridge where the main entrance was inaccessible.

Someone yelled out, “The bridge! The bridge is down!” and word spread like a plague. The mass of elves and men started moving towards Legolas, and he called out to them to hurry and get into the caves. As elvish archers entered, he directed them to a set of stairs that led to the top of the gatehouse, which housed the drawbridge. From that position, the elves could shoot the orcs and try to keep them from following the army into the caves. Legolas directed the soldiers to different stations. Those able to fight stayed by the bridge. Archers were sent to the battlements above. The injured were taken deeper into the palace, to the great hall where healers could begin their work.

Rúmil came in with a group of his warriors, looking battle-worn, but not about to give up the fight. He smiled as he saw Legolas, but it faded quickly when he saw the amount of blood on Legolas’ tunic.

“You’re injured,” he said worriedly. “You must get to the healers. I’ll take over from here.”

Legolas shook his head, “Do not concern yourself. I’ll be fine, but Calariel is gravely injured. She needs help this minute.”

“Where is she?” Rúmil demanded.

“The audience chamber. I’ll take you there,” Legolas said. He put someone in charge of the door, and he and Rúmil made their way to the chamber, taking one of the Lórien healers with them.

They got to the room and Rúmil was shocked to see another body in the room besides Calariel. He paid no attention, though, gesturing for the healer… an elf named Márandil… to examine Calariel first. Legolas leaned exhaustedly against the wall, his energy almost spent. Slowly, he slid down the wall until he was sitting upon the floor, one leg stretched out long, the other bent at the knee, and his forehead resting upon it. Rúmil spoke quietly with Márandil before he went to Legolas.

“How is she,” Legolas asked desperately.

“She’s lost a lot of blood, and she is very weak. Márandil is worried that her lung has been punctured, for her breathing is shallow. If that is the case, then she is in greater danger than we thought.” Rúmil bowed his head, “I’m sorry.”

“She saved my life, Rúmil. She must live.”

“The healer will do all he can, I assure you.” Rúmil got down on one knee and looked Legolas over carefully. “You need help too. Is all of this blood yours?”

“Probably,” Legolas answered lifting his head from his knee.

“What happened here? Who is that woman?” asked Rúmil, gesturing to the tall, lifeless body of the blacksmith.

“Seems as though my past caught up to me,” answered Legolas, but he would say no more.

Rúmil looked over to the healer, when something caught his eye, and he slowly got up and approached the skeletal body sitting on the King’s throne. On the floor at the foot of the throne was a dried and withered crown. The Noldo bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart. Then he took a knee, said something quietly in Quenya, and stood again.

“Should I check the woman?” Márandil asked Rúmil.

But Legolas answered, “Never mind her, she’s dead. Just focus on Calariel.”

Márandil turned to Legolas, “I’ve done what I can for the moment. I must wait and see how she takes to the medicine.”

Legolas watched as he approached. Márandil was an elf of slight frame, definitely not a warrior. He was dark haired, fair skinned, and smelled of herbs. When he looked at Legolas, he only saw the injuries, for his mind was focused on his job.

He poked and prodded Legolas’ shoulder and side. “You’ve still got part of an arrow in your shoulder. It will have to be removed or it will get infected.” Márandil examined his side, “This one went clean through the flesh.”

“The tip broke when I fell. I pulled the arrow out,” Legolas told him.

“And the stab wound in your other shoulder is not deep, but it needs to be cleansed and bandaged. What concerns me is this knot on the back of your head,” said Márandil as he parted Legolas’ hair to get a better look. “You almost cracked your skull.”

“I hit it on the edge of the dais. It hurts, but I’ve felt worse,” Legolas said.

Calariel moaned and all eyes went to the elleth laying on the floor. All three elves rushed to her. She opened her eyes and they looked from one elf to the other until they rested on Legolas, “Is… is she… dead?”

“Yes,” Legolas said with a smile as he cupped her face.

“And you?” Her vision went to the blood on his tunic. “The ritual?”

Legolas shook his head, “I’m alright, but it’s you that I worry about.”

“It’s hard to breathe,” she commented.

Legolas looked at the healer for an answer, and Márandil examined Calariel more closely now that she was awake. He pushed on her side until she winced. A look of relief passed over his face. “The lung is alright, but she has a broken rib.”

“Thank Béma,” Legolas said quietly, surprising the others. Elves spoke of the Valar, of course, but Béma was normally referred to by the Rohir.

Just then, a soldier ran into the room, out of breath and excited. “Prince Legolas, the rest of the Galadhrim army has arrived.”

Legolas closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Rúmil looked anxious, “I must go see that my brothers are alright.”

“Yes, go,” Legolas nodded, and Rúmil left with the messenger.

“I need to go too,” Legolas said to Calariel. “I’ve my men to see to.”

“You need to rest,” she said as her eyes scanned the blood stains. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ve already told him that,” Márandil said with a warning raise of his brow.

“But he will not listen,” Calariel finished.

Legolas gave a half smile, “No repose for the king.”

She closed her eyes as her mouth cracked a smile, “It’s good to hear you refer to yourself as such.”

“Well, the berry crown is only for ceremonial show. The actual rite of the crowning has yet to be performed. I am still just a prince.”

“Prince… King… it makes no difference to me,” she jested.

“And would you still have me if I were merely a pauper?” he asked.

Calariel looked at him quizzically, “What are you asking, Legolas?”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, “I thought I had lost you, and I realized that… well… that I want you with me. I’m still learning about you, and I’m not ready to see that end.”

Calariel smiled and turned her eyes away as she blushed, “I like being with you too.”

Legolas kissed her gingerly and smoothed her hair from her face, “If I asked it of you, would you consider staying here… with me… in Mirkwood?”

“If you asked, I would say yes,” she replied.

“Then I am asking.” 

“And my answer stays the same.”

Legolas kissed her again, but this time without reserve. Then, he struggled to his feet, wincing as he stood. “I’ll come back. Márandil is in charge here.”

“I’ll take good care of her,” the healer promised.

* * *

Legolas stood at the drawbridge, looking out at the surrounding land. The forest was littered with bodies, and not all of them orcs or spiders. Time seemed to slow to a snail’s pace as he searched for familiar faces. Rúmil stood with his brothers, Haldir and Orophin. Rúmil was looking at Orophin’s arm, which had been bound in a splint. Haldir had a slash above his right eye, but he still looked as robust as ever. Despite their injuries, they were glad to be in each other’s company. They were three again, the brothers Lothlórien, a symbol of that land’s unending endurance.

Legolas looked on and saw Folvar leaning against a tree. His injuries looked mild, but the aging Woodsman was exhausted from the fight. His brow was heavy with sweat. He rubbed his shoulder as though massaging muscles he hadn’t used in a while. Legolas wondered if this was to be his last battle, and thought that Sefa would be glad to know her husband would be home, safe in their village, from now on. Legolas was just glad Folvar was still alive. He would have hated to visit the Woodsmen village for the first time in many years only to bring disparaging news. Now he knew it would be a joyous reunion.

Further on amongst the devastation, Legolas spotted Hafdan and Kular, bent on their knees, and giving comfort to one of their own, who looked as though he was beyond saving. The man had a large gash in his side, his insides spilled out and a pool of blood beneath him. Legolas could see the injured man hand some small token to Hafdan, and then he moved no more. Kular bowed his head in sorrow, and then closed the man’s eyes. Hafdan kissed his thumb, and then touched it to the man’s forehead. He looked at the token, a charm of some sort, and carefully tucked it inside his vest for safe keeping. Another villager woman had just become a widow.

And what had they all fought for? This was not their land. Mirkwood might not have been any concern to them, yet they came. Some lost the battle, but more survived. Those that lay dead had given their lives for the restoration of an elven realm that hadn’t existed for years, and then only one elf remained of that land. Why was it worth these mortal men to come to Legolas’ aid? He hadn’t asked them to come. They just happened upon him and his Lórien company, and offered their weapons, their very lives, for the sake of Mirkwood. And still, Legolas asked himself why.

He looked around at the devastated forest, and thought of the words he exchanged with Róta. What exactly had he inherited? Who would want to make this dark place their home, their new hope? He suddenly felt very far away from those that he cared about. Eomer, Eowyn, Théoden… they were out there somewhere, fighting their own battles, and Legolas prayed they were safe. He could only imagine what they were up against, especially if they were in Gondor.

But this battle, the fight for Mirkwood, seemed to be over. It seemed like such a small victory compared to other wars, but it was a victory no less. Legolas glanced again at the man who had died in Hafdan and Kular’s company. It was no victory for this one, yet he willingly fought, knowing there was a chance he would not go home again.

Legolas knew his obligation to be king was the reason this man, as well as many other men and elves, had given their lives to this war. Mirkwood must rise from the char and the ash. It must be rebuilt and resettled with a new generation of elves, and Legolas would lead them. But what he hadn’t thought of was what he would have to give up. How could he turn towards this new path and leave behind all those people who had helped him along the way? But wasn’t this the very reason they had helped in the first place? They had all known he could not stay, Eomer, Théoden, they knew he would go home one day. That day was today, and Legolas was proud and excited, but at the same time, he was lonely, for he wished he could share this victory with them.

While lost to his thoughts, Legolas hadn’t noticed that Haldir now stood at his side, watching the scene around him. The Noldo stood tall, but with an odd sense of subservience. Legolas did not care much for it, but he understood it. He outranked Haldir, but he still felt like an equal. Had his father struggled with this too, he wondered.

Haldir seemed to be waiting for Legolas to acknowledge him before he spoke. Yet another thing Legolas would have to get used to as ruler of the woodland realm.

“The injured are being carried inside the palace,” he informed Haldir. “The dead have been laid beside the river, a temporary morgue until it is decided where to bury them.” Legolas turned to Haldir, “I supposed I have the final say.”

“That would be to your discretion,” Haldir responded with a pause. He seemed somewhat flustered. “I apologize, but I am unsure of how you would like to be addressed.”

Legolas laughed nervously, “I don’t really know myself. How about Legolas for now, at least until the official crowning.”

Haldir simply nodded in agreement, but his attention was on the scene surrounding them. He looked anxious. “Rúmil told me of Calariel’s injuries.”

“She is inside amongst the others,” Legolas informed him.

Haldir’s gaze turned intensely to Legolas, and he knew the March warden’s concern for her was still quite considerable. His feelings towards her had not diminished in the least. What would he say when he learned that Calariel was staying in Mirkwood?

“I must see her,” Haldir demanded, and Legolas led the way.

She was laying on a makeshift bed in the throne room with the other injured. Márandil was busily tending the wounded along with the other healers, which were few, but he smiled when he saw Haldir and Legolas approaching.

“She is doing just fine. The bleeding has stopped and she is resting,” Márandil said before the elves could ask. He gestured to where she lay. “You can see for yourselves, just do not disturb her. I believe the healing sleep has taken her.”

Legolas and Haldir approached Calariel, each elf looking down at her with a similar expression. Haldir lifted a wave of her dark hair and pushed it behind her ear as he spoke. “She would have followed you wherever you went.”

Legolas let out a deep sigh, “I could not have stopped her. She has such determination.”

“She has always been that way. It is why I trained with her when she decided to join the army. Her father would not hear of it, and if anyone else had offered to be her instructor, Túrdir would have paid them no mind. But we knew each other. He had been my commander at one time. He trained me himself, and I think he knew I would watch out for her and shape her to be the best.”

“Then I must have you to thank,” Legolas said, “for it was Calariel’s skill that saved my life today.”

The corner of Haldir’s mouth upturned in a smile, but his attention never left the elleth, “As I said, she would not have left your side. She… cares deeply for you.”

Legolas heard what Haldir said, but he also heard what the March warden could not admit aloud… the fact that she did not see Haldir this way. “I care for her too,” Legolas said after a silent pause between them.

“Is she staying?” Haldir asked.

Legolas nodded and turned his head away, “Yes.”

“I thought as much.” Haldir had knelt by her side, but now he stood and faced Legolas. He bowed his head as he spoke. “There was always a part of Calariel that was searching for something more. As much as it pains me to admit it, I think she belongs here.”

“I’m sorry, Haldir, I—”

“No,” Haldir interrupted, “I have always known that her heart did not beat with mine. It was but a fools hope that someday. . .”

At that moment, Calariel’s eyes fluttered, opened and settled on the March warden. She gave a sleepy smile, “You made it. And Orophin?”

“He has a broken arm, but he will be fine,” Haldir answered as he gazed down at the lovely elleth who he had spent years adoring.

Her smile faded as her recent decision came vividly to mind, “Haldir, I must tell you something. I… I have—”

“I already know,” Haldir said to spare her. “Legolas and I were just discussing your decision to stay in Mirkwood, and I agree. You belong here.”

Legolas watched as the relief that washed over her face quickly dissipated. “My father will be disappointed.”

“Well, yes, he will,” Haldir agreed, “but he is not blind either.”

“And neither is he consensual,” she said with a deep sigh.

“I am happy for you,” Haldir stated, and he gave a warm smile. The moment passed quickly, and Haldir straightened as he looked around. “I have duties to attend to. I just wanted to see that you were well.”

“Thank you, Haldir,” Calariel smiled.

Haldir bowed to her and Legolas, and then he was off to see his men.

Calariel watched him go, and then her vision fell on Legolas, her mood suddenly lightened. “Speaking of my father, he won’t like you very much either, once word reaches him of my decision.”

“I think your father has already established that opinion.” Legolas knelt down beside her and took her hand. “After all, I am Thranduil’s son, and mustn’t I live up to the reputation of seducing the most beautiful elleth of Lothlórien, and whisk her away to my underground lair, spoiling her with riches?”

Calariel started to laugh, and then she winced as she grabbed her side, the movement jostling her broken ribs. “Your humor pains me, my King.”

“You’ll just have to get used to it, my Queen.” The words left his lips before he realized what he had said. Neither did they escape Calariel’s attention. She looked as though she had witnessed something that she should never have seen.

Unsure of how to recover from his slip, he stammered into a chorus of ah’s and oh’s. Calariel, seeing his discomfort, gave a flick of her hand, as though waving him off. “It’s alright, Legolas. We were only speaking playfully.”

“Yes,” he laughed nervously, and he thought he was in the clear, but the lingering look in Calariel’s eyes said something else. Had she been hoping that he would make a proposal? But how could they think of something like this when they’d known each other for such a short period of time.

‘And are you not the same elf who asked Lúta to marry you without any thought of what that would mean?’ said a voice from inside his head. Legolas was in no way immune to making rash decisions. Another trait of his father’s personality, he figured.

“Wait… no!” he exclaimed, taking Calariel by surprise.

“What?” she said confused.

“Maybe I am not jesting.” Again, he struggled with the words, as they would not come together to form a sentence.

Calariel managed to sit up, ignoring the pain in her side. She touched her hand to Legolas’ arm. “You don’t have to do this.”

Her voice cleared the fog from his thoughts, and he saw clearly just what it was that made his heart beat loudly for her. “Calariel, before I knew who you were, before you opened your eyes to me for the first time when I found you in Fangorn, I think I felt a pang in my heart. It was because of you that I went to Lothlórien. And when I found no support, you were the first one to say you would fight by my side. You may be the only one who accepts me for the elf that I have grown to be. I am not like the others. I don’t think I ever can be like them, nor do I want to, and you understand that. My family in Rohan are the only ones who take me for who I am. You are the first elf to do that.”

“I… I didn’t mean for you to… I mean, you shouldn’t—”

Legolas could see that he scared her with his admission. To ease her mind, he cupped her face and caught her in his bright blue stare. “Maybe now is not the time to have this discussion, but I just want you to know that I think… no… I know that I am falling for you.”

Calariel smiled as a tear formed in the corner of her eye, “You are?” She laughed uneasily, not prepared for any of this, but it was something she thought of from time to time. “I… I mean, y-you are… a-are you? Really?”

He moved closer to her, lifting her face to his, lips almost touching. “I most certainly am,” he whispered, and then he kissed her as though she was the first and the last one he would ever kiss. He finally released her and sat back, eyes turned down to his lap. “I know this is not traditionally how it is done.”

“You are anything but a traditional elf, Legolas, and full of surprises. You keep me guessing from one moment to the next,” Calariel admitted, her lips still tingling from the passionate kiss. “It is so very freeing, and I… I love that about you, and I… well… I-I love you.”

His eyes closed as his mouth spread into a smile. When he opened them, they were trained on Calariel. “I love you too.” They met for another kiss, and melted into one another, losing themselves in the feel of this new discovery. And when they separated, they laughed together.

“So, does this mean we are courting?” Legolas asked.

“This is customarily how it is done. What about in Rohan? What would they call it?”

“Well, traditionally speaking, it would be a courtship, although some are hasty and would further explore as they would on their wedding night,” Legolas huffed a breath like a laugh as he thought about his friend, Théodred, who had wasted no time with his beloved. Calariel looked slightly put off, and he shook his head, “Not me, of course. I would never take advantage of… well, unless you agreed and… but, no… no, I’d never.”

“But you have been with others,” she stated.

Legolas looked away and nodded, “You know I have, and I’ve told you as much, but if you must hold it against me—”

“Oh, no, Legolas. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just… well, you’ve been intimate before, and I’m sure you expect your relationships to advance at a certain pace. And I want to be a part of some of your human traditions, but—”

“Calariel, I would not ask this of you, and you uncomfortable with any part of it,” he said sincerely.

“Good,” she said relieved.

“I would do this properly, and embrace my elvishness, most of all with you.” He paused and looked off in the distance of the throne room, his brow furrowed with concern. “I suppose this means I must confront your father again, and ask permission to court his only daughter.”

“And if he should refuse to grant you permission?” she asked curiously, though she thought she knew his answer, for Legolas was not one to give up easily.

“I will state my intensions and give him time to make his decision. If he denies my attempt, I will ask again, maybe thrice, but I will not beg and plead.” Legolas took her chin in his fingers, his thumb caressing her lower lip. “Neither will I take no for an answer, but I don’t think you will either.”

“I want to live here in Mirkwood. I want to be part of the reconstruction and regrowth. I want to put my hands in the soil, and say that I helped to build it, that it is my home. And I want to do this with you.”

Legolas’ hand moved over her cheek, cupping her ear, his lips close to hers. “I love you, Calariel.”

“I love you too,” she whispered before capturing his mouth and settling into the warmth of his embrace.


	41. Swathed in Green

After the confusion of battle and once things began to settle, Legolas met with Haldir, and a few of his commanders, to discuss the happenings at Dol Guldur. Lothlórien’s plan was well laid and it worked perfectly. Once word reached the dark tower that Legolas and a band of elves were making their way to Mirkwood, the enemy left their hideout to join the rest of the orc army, which was based within close proximity to the destroyed Mirkwood forest. They found themselves ambushed by Haldir’s army, and the majority of them were destroyed. Once Lothlórien overtook the old decrepit tower, they hurried to Mirkwood, arriving just in time.

Haldir also informed Legolas of the victory in Gondor, though the human city suffered a great degree of damage. Legolas asked if he’d heard anything of the Rohirrim, or of Aragorn and Gimli, but he had not, only that Rohan had fought on the Pelennor Fields, helping to defend Minas Tirith. It was thought that those still able to fight had regrouped and were making their way to the very heart of the enemy, Mordor. Legolas felt in his gut that Aragorn and Gimli were amongst those, if not leading the rest to one final battle. But his heart froze to think of Eomer or Théoden within the company. Legolas wasn’t sure what they were planning to do, but it seemed like a one way journey if they were staging an assault against Sauron himself. And then there was that nagging voice in the back of his mind, always saying that he should have been there.

But this was not Legolas’ place anymore, and there had been a lot to do in the first days after the victorious recapture of Mirkwood. Legolas began construction of the burial grounds, the dead rightfully buried with proper ceremony. Within the caves was a burial chamber where the nobles were laid to rest. He had his father’s remains placed there, lain aside Legolas’ mother, Almárëa, and his grandfather, Oropher. The first feast was celebrated in their honor afterwards.

It had been a solemn day for Legolas, and the first time he remembered seeing his mother’s tomb. A stone statue in her likeness stood in memorial of the Noldo Queen of Mirkwood. Legolas studied her features, thinking she must have been beyond beautiful. Calariel had been with him during this solitary moment, and told him that Celeborn was right to be amazed at the semblance between mother and son.

The next day, Haldir and his men, along with his brothers, Rúmil and Orophin, said their farewells and started on their journey back to Lothlórien. A small group of about one hundred elves decided to stay and help begin the cleansing of Mirkwood. Of these, Legolas wondered how many would remain permanently.

The Woodsmen also left to return to their village, but before going, Folvar promised to send back supplies to help the elves accomplish their goals. A few weeks later, a wagon arrived, filled with axes, saws, chain, rope and many other things that would assist the elves in clearing away the burnt section of the forest. Pulling the wagon were two sturdy work mules, who could drag the larger pieces of debris out of the livable section of the city.

Calariel, herself took over this huge feat. They would need to clear away all the dead and decaying foliage and hollowed logs, and bring down the remains of blackened trees that had caught fire and burned to nothing more than great sticks rising from the earth. The layer of ash that covered the ground would be helpful to the new growth in this area, so it would need to be mixed in with the moist soil, the dirt worked and turned until the elves were satisfied with it. Then they would go out and uproot smaller trees and saplings, bring them to the cleansed area, and plant them. It would be no small task, but one that Calariel looked forward to participating in. And with her involvement, it gave Legolas the time and space he needed to explore the caverns, determine its layout, assign housing to the elves, and rummage through those personal things that once belonged to his father.

The first order of business was to have a statue made of his father, which would stand alongside the one of his mother. One of the Lórien elves in the company was trained in the art of masonry and volunteered to do this task. Legolas even learned a thing or two about working stone from a solid mass to something recognizable. When it was finished, Legolas ordered that a fresh berry garland always be upon his father’s head, as well as a single rose be placed within his mother’s hand. He’d found a solitary bush growing in a place that he thought must have been his mother’s private garden at one time. It had somehow survived the raping of the land and had flourished through the years. The roses were a most unusual two-toned color, sun-yellow petals that darkened to a deep orange on the edges. Legolas was reminded of the sun dawning over the pastures of Rohan. As tribute to his adopted home, he named it the Eorlingas Rose.

Often times, Legolas found himself standing within the mausoleum, gazing upon the faces of those whose blood he shared; a father he had barely known and a mother who he did not remember. Yet, he could sometimes feel their presence when he visited their tombs. It gave him strength and courage to see their stone forms standing together, and he hoped their souls had found each other in the ethereal life beyond this one of flesh and bone. His parents were never far from his mind. Their memory encompassed every part of the caverns, with murals and tapestries displayed from the grand throne room to the dining hall. They were his ghostly heritage, and Legolas was all that remained as proof of their existence, and their deep love for each other. Even so, sometimes he couldn’t help feel like a stranger in the place of his birth.

One morning, Legolas found himself standing in the small library that doubled as his father’s study. There were murals depicting his family, and the story of their settlement in Eryn Galen, Greenwood the Great. Another showed the battle of the Last Alliance, when his grandfather lost his life, and the coronation of his father as the new King of the Woodland. And then there was the marriage of Thranduil to Almárëa, and in her arms a small elfling swathed in fine dark green linen.

“That must be you,” said Calariel, as she laid her hand on his back. A head of gold and two sapphire eyes looked back at her from the depiction.

“It’s odd standing here, looking at my family history, knowing I am a part of it, but feeling like an observer. I remember so little my father, and I don’t know my mother at all. Yet, here she is holding me in her arms, and the look of a mother’s great love for her child plainly shown on her face. These were her memories, and those of the wood elves. They are not mine, and I wish that they were.”

“You will make new memories,” she said to comfort him.

Legolas kissed her cheek. “We both will,” he corrected, “And maybe one day it will be your likeness standing there cradling a child.”

“Maybe?” she questioned.

Legolas smiled, “I have not had words with your father yet. I cannot even announce our courtship until I have.”

“You will, eventually,” she said reassuringly.

There was a knock on the door, and Legolas called for whoever it was to enter. One of the elves stood beside a young messenger, dressed in the familiar Rohirrim uniform. His blonde hair was a bit too long and he kept pushing it back from his eyes. The sleeves of his tunic came down past his hands, and the bottom hem ended somewhere mid-shin. Then the pale blue eyes met Legolas’ and the smile upon the young face was undeniably familiar.

“Gellír?” Legolas asked with complete perplexity.

“Legolas!” the boy shouted as he ran to him and threw his lean arms about the elf.

Legolas remembered Gellír as a young child, standing precariously upon a rickety ladder, his face and clothes befouled by dust and dirt. He had been caught stealing from a food stall, and as punishment, he was sent to Eowyn and put to work cleaning the dingy halls of Meduseld. That was the first time Legolas met Gellír, and the boy was instantly drawn to him.

“Gellír, how have you come all this way to Mirkwood?” Legolas asked as he peeled the boy from him.

Gellír straightened his tunic and flipped his head to the side, blonde hair flying out of his face. His happiness faded as he reached into a pouch that hung from his side. He took out several pieces of folded paper and handed them to Legolas. “The Lady Eowyn sent me, and she told me to deliver her letter to you.”

Legolas smiled at the mention of her name, “How is Eowyn, and Edoras? Is all well?”

“Edoras still shines, as well as the Lady Eowyn, but not all is well… no,” Gellír said sounding dismal.

Calariel came to Legolas’ side, and smiled at the boy before her, “Hello, Gellír. I am Calariel.”

“Are you an elf too?” he asked.

“Yes I am.”

“There are so many here. I’ve only ever seen one elf and that’s Legolas, though I never much thought of him as an elf. You seem… different somehow, but I can’t quite put my finger on it,” Gellír explained.

Legolas stood unmoving, gazing at the letters in his hand, heedless of the conversation between Calariel and Gellír. She took notice, thinking that Legolas needed a moment alone, and took a step closer to the boy. “I’m sure you are famished. Oron will take you to the kitchens, and find you something to eat.”

“But Legolas—” Gellír opposed, but he was cut off.

“It’s alright, Gellír. I will be along in a bit and we’ll talk,” Legolas said.

Calariel gestured to the elf, Oron, and he led the boy from the study towards the kitchens. Then Calariel turned back to Legolas, who was still looking at the letters.

Legolas sighed, “I’m almost afraid to read them. Something has happened. What if Eomer—”

“You won’t know until you read,” Calariel interrupted.

Legolas took a seat in his father’s chair, still not able to claim it as his chair now, and brought a lantern closer to where he sat. He started reading, and his expression never faltered from that of worry and concern. Calariel busied herself, straightening manuscripts on shelves, or brushing away patches of dust that had settled here and there. After a long while, Legolas’ hands fell to his lap, the letters still in his grasp. Calariel went to him and laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder.

“Dernhelm,” he said.

“Who?” Calariel asked, never having heard that name before.

“It was an alias that Eowyn came up with. I was the only one who knew, but she kept a set of armor hidden, and she always said that one day she would fight amongst the men. I never thought she would do it,” he said dreamily, as he remembered their conversations beside the fire pit in Meduseld.

Eowyn had written the letters from the healing house of Minas Tirith, while recovering from an almost fatal wound. She’d disguised herself as a soldier, as well as one of the Hobbits, Merry, and they rode out with the Rohirrim army, bound for Gondor. There Eowyn and Merry fought upon the Pelennor Field, and they fought well, until they came face to face with none other than the Witch-king of Angmar, one of the nine Nazgûl, and their captain.

“The black rider attacked King Théoden, and Eowyn witnessed it. She stood before the Nazgûl and her uncle, fought the foul Witch-king and killed him. But she sustained a serious wound, one that could have sent her to the shadow world of the Nazgûl.”

“Then she is alright?” Calariel asked. “She wrote the letters after all.”

“She is still recovering, and her dreams are still dark, but she will be fine.”

“And your friend Eomer? What happened to him?”

Legolas bowed his head, “He had found his sister clinging to life and brought her to the city.” Then a small smile escaped the corner of his mouth, “No doubt she will never hear the end of his berating.”

It dawned on Calariel who was still unaccounted for. “And what of King Théoden?”

Legolas lifted his head, his eyes misting over with tears. “The King is dead. Eomer was with him as he passed. He did not survive the attack by the Nazgûl.”

Calariel brought Legolas’ head against her stomach and held him as though to protect him from this disheartening news. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. After a few moments of silence, she asked, “What of the ones who marched to Mordor?”

“All I know is that Eomer was amongst them. The letters were written on the eve of their leaving, and it probably took a while for them to reach Mirkwood.”

Calariel sighed, feeling Legolas’ sorrow. “It might take the company just as long to reach the Black Gate as it took for word to reach you. They might be there as we speak.”

Legolas stood from the chair, and went to the wall upon which his bow and knives hung. He touched the curved wood of the bow that Folvar had given him after taking him to Rohan as an elfling. “Eomer should not be in Mordor. With Théoden dead, the throne will have passed on to him. He should not have had to risk his life nor his newly appointed position, but I know he went because there was no one else to do so.” He turned to Calariel, his brow furrowed with disappointment. “It should have been me. I should have been there. I should have gone with the Rohirrim to fight, and then maybe none of this would have happened. I would have protected the King. I would not have let Eowyn sneak off with the men, risking her life.”

“You were needed here, Legolas,” Calariel said. “The time had come for you to claim what was rightfully yours.”

“And for what,” he said harshly, “to bury my father… to clean up the mess left behind? Maybe all of this could have waited. Maybe I should have gone to fight with my friends… my brothers in arms, those who protected me when all I had known was lost. And now they have lost their King, as well as many of their kinsmen.”

“And they still have a country to call home,” Calariel answered in a raised tone. “You had none, not until you came back. This is your home now. This has always been your home. Do not forget about those who fought and died aiding you on this quest. They did it because they believed Mirkwood could be taken back, and there was only one who could claim it as theirs… you, Legolas. You gave back to Rohan, but now it is time for you to do something for yourself.” Calariel composed herself and went to Legolas, laying her head on his shoulder, her hand wrapping around his arm. “None of this would have happened if it weren’t for you. You raised an army and righted a wrong. You should be content because you are home.”

Legolas closed his eyes and nuzzled his cheek against the top of her head. “I am sorry. I don’t mean to sound despaired. My heart is aching right now, and I speak out of emotion. Théoden wasn’t’ just the King of Rohan. He was like a father to me. He gave me his home, his teachings. He was there for a lot of important parts of my maturing.”

Calariel lifted her head and kissed his cheek. “I understand Théoden was important to you. Of course you feel slighted. You have every right to grieve his death.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to spend some time with Gellír… alone. I would know all that I can about these events and what led up to them,” he said sweetly.

“Go on. There’s plenty for me to do anyways. I’ll see you for the evening meal then?”

Legolas nodded and smiled. “I love you.”

Calariel cupped her hand behind his ear. “And I love you.”

Legolas went to the kitchens, where he found young Gellír feasting on sweet rolls, stuffing as many as he could fit into his mouth. The elf smiled to himself. The boy was not such a boy any longer. He had grown, perhaps more than he should have for one so young, but wartime had a way of making people age before their time. In just a few short years, Gellír would be of an age when he could begin his training in the Rohirrim army, if he chose to take that path. Legolas remembered his first year. Eomer and Théodred had been his mentors, in more than just fighting, he thought joyfully to himself. Perhaps Gellír would pursue his career as a messenger. Eowyn had used his talents in the past, when the days had grown dark and she needed someone quick and stealthy to run messages to Eomer in Aldburg… when not much got past the ever-watchful eye of Gríma Wormtongue. And here the boy was again, sent upon another mission to deliver important news.

“You know there is plenty more where those came from,” Legolas said, announcing his arrival.

Gellír turned to him, eyes wide and cheeks puffed like a chipmunk collecting his winter stores. He quickly chewed and swallowed what he could. “They are just so good. We don’t have anything this tasty in Edoras.”

Legolas ruffled the boy’s hair and took a seat next to Gellír. Then he picked up a roll and took a bite, savoring its buttery sweetness. “Mmm, you’re right. Rohan is not known for its confections. Meat and ale perhaps, but not such delectable treats.”

They ate in silence until they had their fill. Then Legolas started the conversation. “How is it you obtained the letters from Lady Eowyn if she is in Minas Tirith?”

“Oh,” Gellír started eagerly, “she sent many letters of correspondence to Edoras informing them of the happenings in Gondor. These were sent with special instructions to be sent to you, and she asked that I be the one to deliver them.”

“And you came alone?” Legolas asked curiously.

Gellír nodded, still chewing and swallowing the last bite of food, “I always work alone. ‘Tis the life of a messenger.” He took a long drink from his cup, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and set the mug down. His eyes stayed focused on the pewter mug, as though lost in thought, a shadow of mournfulness passing over his boyish face. “We lost so many. A lot of the King’s men are gone now.”

“Yes, I know,” Legolas said softly. “No one has been spared from sorrow in this war.”

“I’m worried about Edoras, Legolas. What will become of our city now that King Théoden is gone… and Théodred? Eomer and Lady Eowyn are in Gondor, and Eomer is marching in the final battle. I’ve heard talk about it. They go to face the ruler of the evil. He has dark magic. How will mortal men survive against something so strong?”

“Because they have hope in their hearts, and love for their country and their people,” Legolas responded quickly. “And you needn’t worry for Edoras. Eomer will come home. He’ll take up the throne, and you will see what a strong and exceptional king he will make.”

Gellír twisted his hands together nervously, “I… I wish you would come back to Rohan.”

“I can’t.”

“I know,” Gellír whispered solemnly. “I just wanted you to know.”

Legolas patted the boys back. “Come on. I’ll show you around my new home. You can meet some more of the elves, and perhaps later we’ll hear their storytelling.”

Gellír stayed for a few more days, until he was well rested and ready to journey back to Rohan. Calariel insisted that the boy have an escort, against Gellír’s insistence that messengers were used to traveling alone. Legolas agreed with Calariel, but he did not let on to Gellír, only saying that women of any race were overly concerned. He would miss the boy. Having him here brought back so many happy memories, and those were precious to him now. But there was work to do, and it was time to get back into focus. 

* * *

Time passed on, and word finally reached Mirkwood of the successful battle against Mordor. Sauron had been overthrown and destroyed, as well as his tower, his land, his armies and the Nazgûl. All of Legolas’ friends that marched to the Black Gates, had made it back safely. A new age was approaching quickly, an age that would belong to Men, as more elves decided to sail into the West. Not for Mirkwood, though. It was a land on the verge of rebirth, and it needed the attention of the elves.

Inside the city, much had changed. The elves sent word out to Lake Town that they were interested in resuming trade. The answer was promising, for Lake Town agreed to send a barterer to see what the newly rising Mirkwood had to offer, which wasn’t much to start with. But at least there was a line of communication open again. The cleansing was coming along nicely, and the caverns were coming to life again. The replanting was a success, and Calariel was proud of her work. The newly replanted saplings took well to the soil, and the salvageable plants and trees were looking healthier with every day that passed.

She was with Legolas on this particular morning, standing within the grand throne room. Legolas was looking at the extravagant throne that sat alone upon the dais. It was very large, almost comical in size. Legolas thought that he and Calariel could share the seat comfortably.

“You know it was grown, not carved, this throne,” he commented.

“What do you mean, ‘grown’,” she asked.

“This is a strangler tree. They are common in dark forests where light is scarce. It starts out as a seed and attaches to a host tree. Then the roots grow downward, eventually enveloping its host, while the top of the tree reaches towards the canopy where there is more light. This one had been manipulated by the elves to take the shape of a chair. When it reached its desired shape, it was hewn down, polished, preserved, and placed here.” 

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Calariel said as she looked at the odd throne. It looked as though it could come back to life and start growing again. The seat had been cushioned, and the back had a unique weaving affect. That part resembled a chair, but the rest looked like the tree it had been cut from, its gnarled branches reaching out in unusual directions. It was the only thing on the dais, but it took up most of the space.

“I think I am not ready for this,” Legolas whispered.

“It is a big responsibility, but I can think of no one more than ready for the position,” Calariel insured him.

“There is something I must do before I take this throne.” He turned to her, slipping his arms around her waist, and kissed her. “I need to speak with your father… about us. I’ll not take up the seat of Mirkwood until I have his permission. What do you think he will do?”

“He’ll be reluctant. He’ll think that history repeats itself, and relive those days he shared with your mother… and the day that he lost her to your father. He’ll think that he is losing his daughter to another arrogant king.”

“Perhaps honesty is not what I need at the moment,” Legolas replied, and Calariel laughed.

“But no matter what he says or does, it was my decision to come to Mirkwood. It is my heart to give, and I have given it to you.”

“As well, I have given mine to you,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.

“So tell me this, if you meet with my father and he refuses, will you give my heart back? Will you take yours from me?”

“That I cannot do,” he answered.

“And neither can I.” Calariel fondled his blond braid between her fingers.

“No matter what happens, you will be mine.” He kissed her thoroughly, holding her against him, feeling their oneness.

Legolas released her, and they looked longingly into each other’s eyes. Then Calariel reached into the pocket of her skirt and revealed a roll of parchment, handing it to him. “This came for you early this morning, by messenger… from Lothlórien.”

Legolas took the small scroll, but he did not open it right away. Instead, he pondered what it contained, and whom it was from. “Only a few months since the reclaiming, and already Lothlórien calls.” He breathed a heavy sigh and unrolled the note, reading the simple message. Then he walked to a nearby table, smiled cynically, and dropped the parchment into an empty vase.

“What is it?” Calariel asked curiously.

“A visit from Lord Celeborn, no doubt coming to berate me about something, and I’ve not even accepted the crown yet,” Legolas complained.

“He probably comes to see how we fare,” Calariel guessed.

“He probably comes to take all the elves back to Lothlórien and leave me with no one.”

“You have me,” she smiled.

He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Maybe that is all I need.”

She kissed him and unwrapped herself from his hold. “Lord Celeborn, no matter how you perceive him, is fair and just. He’ll not dismiss anyone, especially if they want to be here in the first place. He knows that you need settlers who will work the land, and although we have made many accomplishments, so much was damaged that I’m not sure we will see it fully restored before the last ship sails for Valinor.”

“I promise you that we will see some part of the forest put right, bursting with green leaves and ferns, and smelling of fresh air like that of a clean spring day,” he said dreamily.

“Do you think we will always live in the caverns as we do now?” she asked.

“I hadn’t given it much thought, but I guess we don’t have to. There is no reason to hide underground any longer. And you probably prefer to live within the trees, though that might be difficult here. Most of the older trees that could have supported a colony were destroyed.”

“It’s alright, Legolas. I don’t care where we live, but I do miss sitting in the boughs of a great mallorn and watching the stars pass in the night.”

“Then you shall have your loft, my lady,” Legolas said with a formal bow. His eye caught sight of the rolled parchment sticking out of the top of the vase, and his contentment turned to apprehension. “Just as soon as I find out the meaning of Lord Celeborn’s visit.”

* * *

The next few weeks were hectic, to say the least, as everyone prepared for Lord Celeborn’s visit. The elves were proud of what they accomplished so far, and no one was more excited than Calariel. She was anxious to show Lord Celeborn all that they had done to begin rejuvenating the forest, and she played a major role in those achievements. She hoped that Celeborn would share with her father, all of the ways she had been helpful and resourceful. It just might soften him up a bit when the time came for Legolas to speak to him. Túrdir was known for holding his grudges, even for those who were not directly involved.

Legolas had made sure accommodations were favorable for someone of Celeborn’s standing. Used to the comforts of the trees, he wasn’t sure how the Noldo would feel in a cave. Legolas didn’t like to think of his home as such, but there was no other way to describe Thranduil’s halls.

Gimli had told Legolas how uncomfortable Lothlórien was to receive a dwarf among their community, even temporarily. The caverns had been constructed by the skillful hands of the dwarfs, and they themselves lived in very much the same conditions as the Mirkwood elves. Celeborn might find it offensive that no other means of living would be offered, but the forest was not accommodating for tree dwelling just yet. And why did it matter so much, Legolas asked himself. Celeborn hadn’t gone out of his way to see that arrangements were made for Legolas to live underground or under thatched roof — as he was accustomed to. But he did not want to be unwelcoming, and that’s what he strived for. Anyways, how could Celeborn feel unwelcomed in a place that was inhabited by his own people?

A few days later, there was excitement radiating from Mirkwood, as Lord Celeborn and his small entourage of courtiers arrived promptly as expected. The gates were thrown wide, welcoming the silver haired Noldo, decked in raiment of white and gold. He and his company illuminated the forest with their presence. Legolas, even as soon to be king of Mirkwood, couldn’t help but feel beneath the nobility of this Eldar of Arda. This was not just the Lord of Lothlórien. Celeborn was family, he reminded himself, linked by the blood of his mother. There should not be such separation between them, but there had been, and Legolas was sure that there still was.

Legolas was standing next to the grand throne when Celeborn entered. He bowed, hand over heart as was appropriate, as the elf lord advanced. Celeborn nodded and then bowed, but his vision instantly went to the greatness of the large room.

“Have you not been within Thranduil’s halls before?” Legolas asked, his voice a smooth echo.

“I’m afraid I was never invited,” Celeborn said, his hand reaching out of his white robe to feel the smooth coolness of a stone column.

Neither were you invited this time, Legolas thought to himself, but he smiled nonetheless. “This was… is,” he corrected himself, “the Great Throne Room where my father greeted his visitors.”

Celeborn continued to look around the room, noting the fact that everything within was overly large or brightly colored, from vases to murals to the king’s throne itself. “Your father was a bit of an eccentric.”

Legolas wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult, but he made no answering remarks, and continued with the greetings. “We are honored to have you with us, Lord Celeborn. Many of the elves have been anxiously awaiting your arrival. I hope you find the rebuilding satisfactory. We have worked hard, and still there is much to do, but what we have accomplished so far has been overwhelmingly time consuming.”

“I imagine it has been,” Celeborn agreed, “Which is partly the reason for my visit.”

“My lord?” Legolas inquired.

Celeborn smiled, thin lipped, and continued, “We’ll speak of that later. First, I would have you give me a tour of the caverns. I have always wanted to see your father’s home in all its splendor.”

Legolas noted how he called it his father’s home. “It is my home now, and that of the elves who wish to reside here. We’ll be making changes in the future, changes that will bring Mirkwood into the light of the new age.

“Very good,” Celeborn said, and he walked to one of the many hallways that led from the grand room. “Tell me, for I am curious. Did you find your father’s treasure room? And has it been deprived of its wealth?”

“I don’t see why that is of your concern,” Legolas responded a bit defensively. 

“My wife would like to know,” Celeborn said dryly.

Legolas hesitated before he answered. “Come see for yourself, if you’d like.”

Celeborn nodded and Legolas led the way to the well hidden room. They walked through the corridors, turning this way and that, rounding one corner and staying straight at the next crossway. It was meant to be difficult to find and it was. Celeborn had lost all meaning of direction in the underground world of Mirkwood. Legolas knew his way by instinct and he silently relished the advantage he held over his uncle.

Finally, they came to a dead end, and Legolas traced his finger over an invisible rune on the stone wall. It was not a wall at all, but a door that lifted upwards like the iron gate of a portcullis. Celeborn watched with amazement. “Ingenious design,” he remarked.

“You should see the wine cellars, or better yet, the dungeons,” said Legolas, raising a quizzical brow.

Celeborn’s eyes narrowed, but relaxed when he saw the humor on his nephew’s countenance. “I think I’ll not venture too far from the surface.”

“Wise choice,” Legolas smiled. Then he gestured for Celeborn to enter the treasure room.

Inside were wooden chests with elvish runes engraved upon them. Shelves lined the walls, housing a multitude of gold and silver plates and goblets, jeweled daggers, mithril brooches, rings, necklaces and other pieces of jewelry. There was so much to see, the eye could not take it all in. And in the middle of the extravagant room, was a stone pedestal with a single silver circlet, designed very much like the wreath of berries. The leaves and vines were made of the precious metal, mithril, and the berries were rubies.

Celeborn observed it with awe, “I am surprised to find the king’s crown. I thought surely it would have been stolen.”

“My father did not usually wear it, only for gallant affairs and such. He considered himself one of the people, not ruler of the people,” Legolas informed him.

“Galadriel said I would find it here, but I was doubtful. This was the reason I wanted to see the room. Your coronation depended upon whether the circlet was still here or whether a new one should be made.”

“Coronation?” Legolas asked.

“You do want to be crowned King, do you not?” Celeborn asked.

“Yes, but I thought—”

“Usually, the outgoing King would crown the new, but since your father is no longer with us, that privilege goes to the next surviving kinsman.” Celeborn paused and watched Legolas’ face turn to that of concern. “That would be me, it seems.”

“Oh,” Legolas said. He had no other response to the news.

“I must also make the determination whether or not the chosen king is worthy of his new title.”

More tests to be put to, Legolas thought uneasily. What would Celeborn have in mind for him?

“Legolas, I would like to spend a few days amongst the others, seeing what has been done and what has yet to be accomplished. Then, I would like to take a ride out to a certain place.”

Legolas regarded him curiously, but asked no questions, “That can be arranged, I’m sure. If you tell me where you plan to go–”

“I know exactly where I am going,” Celeborn interjected with his usual haughtiness. Then he turned to Legolas. “And you shall go with me on this excursion.”

“Very well, I’ll have the guards prepared to join us whenever you are ready.” Legolas always took his two main guards with him whenever he traveled outside of Mirkwood. Though most of the enemy had been killed or had escaped to places unknown, there was always the chance that trouble was lurking.

“I’ll have it be just you and I this time… if you don’t mind. I have… business to discuss.”

“Can we not discuss business here, over a glass of wine?” Legolas asked.

“No,” Celeborn answered tersely.

He wasn’t sure what the elf lord had in store, but he could see there was no choice about it. “Very well. Then I shall be ready to leave in a few days.”

“Excellent,” Celeborn grinned.

* * *

As they rode out to Celeborn’s desired meeting place, Legolas explained the eventual layout for the plans of additional homes outside of the gates. It was further from the city where the forest hadn’t been erased. Building materials were abundant, as well as fresh water supplied by a nearby stream. Plans for gardens were in place, and some of the canopy would be thinned to allow light to reach the forest floor. Legolas explained how they hoped to become as self-sufficient as possible, much more than Mirkwood had been before its destruction.

“And we already have a place prepared for a vineyard, where we will grow grapes to make the finest wine in the northern regions of Middle-earth. It will be a new vintage of Rhovanion wine, one we hope will become our main resource for trade. Whatever we can’t make, grow or hunt, we will obtain from the outside. Connections have already been renewed with Lake Town, and the Beornings and Woodsmen have already made long term agreements with Mirkwood.”

They’d been riding for a while, Legolas noticed, and he had kept the conversation going on his own. Celeborn did not say much, and he wondered why. “Do you not agree with the work or the changes we have made?”

“Not at all. I think what you have accomplished in such a short amount of time is astounding,” Celeborn answered.

“You have given no input, good or bad, and I cannot help but feel you still question my abilities.”

They rode side by side, and Celeborn gave Legolas a sidelong glance, “I question everything. That is my duty.”

“But you do not trust me, is that it?” Legolas had tried over the past few days not to get himself involved in an argument with his uncle. After all, it was Celeborn’s final say whether there would be a coronation soon, and it would not do to complicate things. Legolas thought that might have been the reason for his visit, and the other elves were anxious to see him crowned as well. But he could feel the tension building ever since Celeborn’s arrival, and an altercation seemed unavoidable. This was their usual habit, anyways.

“Perhaps the reason for my hesitation is because I do not know you very well, and you are so young yet, Legolas. Do you realize that no one prior to their majority has held such a high office? And your background is so… eclectic; Mirkwood, Woodsmen, Beornings and Rohirrim. You have lived amongst humans for most of your life. You have adapted to their customs to the point that you forget your elvish heritage.”

“I have never forgotten my elvish heritage,” Legolas interrupted.

“The Atani and the Eldar abide by different rules. You have somehow merged the two and have lived by your own standards. You cannot expect others to do the same,” Celeborn countered.

“I never said I wanted to enforce the customs or laws of Men upon the elves. And if my rearing has been an assimilation of the two different cultures, then I am better for it.”

Celeborn obviously did not like confrontation, but neither was he willing to back down. His usually fair skin was tinging red with anger. “These are my people that have come to help you, who have decided to settle and make Mirkwood their home.”

“If they come to live in Mirkwood, then they are not your people any longer. You have no claim over them.” Legolas argued.

“They are my kinsmen,” Celeborn said in a raised tone of voice. “I will feel responsible for them until they sail.”

Legolas glared at Celeborn from Arod’s back, “That’s it, isn’t it. Once they leave Lothlórien and settle in Mirkwood you are no longer their lord, and it eats away at your conscience to know that some of your kinsmen, the Noldor, will be under my rule, a Sinda, a descendant of the Teleri, those who never stepped foot in Valinor… Elves of the Twilight, isn’t that what you called us?”

Celeborn stopped his horse. “You are Thranduil’s son, and whether you know it or not, you are a lot like him… reckless, quick to judgment.” He looked Legolas square in the eyes. “Taking something precious from another.” He jumped down and looked out over the land, for they had stopped upon a hill that was high enough to break free of the trees. His eyes narrowed against the breeze that struck his face, silver hair flowing out behind him, robes flapping like the wings of a bird.

Legolas was irritated by that last sentence, and he knew Celeborn spoke of Calariel. “I did not force her to do anything she hadn’t already set her mind to doing.”

Celeborn ignored him. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, calming himself. Then he raised his hands, gesturing to the landscape surrounding them. “We are here,” he said calmly, as though they had never been arguing.

Legolas was not as quick to allay his irritability. He glared at Celeborn before he looked around at the vast forest, reluctantly giving up the dispute. “And where is here?”

“This is the point of the tri-realms. From here, you can see how much of the forest is yours. It is a lot of land to govern, don’t you think?”

Legolas stared out over the land in amazement. “I never realized how much there was.”

“Which is why I have come with an offer.” Celeborn turned to Legolas, gaining his attention. “I propose that the Rhovanion be divided more evenly, giving more land to the Woodsmen and the Beornings, and in the meantime, reducing the amount of land that you must tend.”

It was actually a good offer. Legolas had often wondered how the elves would be able to monitor the vacant sections of Mirkwood. The last thing he wanted was for the enemy to regroup and fortify in his own land. But by dividing the three realms more evenly, it could be patrolled much easier.

“I am fine with that offer. I would gladly give the Woodsmen and Beornings more land and take less for myself,” he replied honestly.

“Good,” Celeborn said, but Legolas felt there was more. He’d noticed in the past, especially while immersed in an argument, the thinning of the elf lord’s lips, and a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth when he had more to say… just as he was effectively doing now.

“And you brought me all the way out here to make me an offer that you undoubtedly knew I would accept?” Legolas asked suspiciously.

Celeborn looked like he was struggling with himself, as though he knew something that he was trying to avoid telling Legolas about.

“Is there something more, Lord Celeborn?” he asked.

Celeborn sighed, “As you know, Aragorn is heir of Gondor. He has accepted his role, and his coronation is to commence.”

“That is good news, is it not?”

Celeborn nodded, “All the realms are asked to send representatives to the celebration. You will need to choose a small party to make the long journey to Gondor.”

“I will go myself,” Legolas said happily. He would not miss a chance to see his friends again, or Eomer and Eowyn. Celeborn was still confusing him though. “Why does it seem that this is a problem?”

“It would not be a problem had I not had a message for you from the Lady Galadriel. It’s not so much a message, but a warning, and you should think long and hard before you decide to go to Gondor,” Celeborn said seriously. “There is a lot at stake, and others will be affected by your choices.”

If Galadriel was sending a message/warning, or whatever it was, then it could only mean that she had seen something in her mirror. “What is it?” Legolas asked cautiously. “What does she foresee?”

“If you go to Gondor, you will have a restless heart upon your return home. You will not sit easily upon your throne. Because of this, I am delaying your own coronation until you return to Mirkwood.”

“I don’t understand,” Legolas replied to the warning. “Why would I not feel comfortable in my own home? And what does Gondor have to do with it?”

“I cannot answer these questions. All I can do is give you her advice. The decision is yours, whether you will go or send someone in your place.” Celeborn returned to his horse, and took something from his bag. It was a wooden box, about the size of a book, but deeper. It was carved from white wood and had the symbol of the Two Trees engraved into the lid. Celeborn came back to Legolas, and handed him the box. “This is Galadriel’s gift to you.”

Legolas opened it, finding soil inside that smelled fresh like dirt newly touched by rain.

Celeborn explained, “This is soil from Galadriel’s garden, moistened by water from Lothlórien’s healing pools. The water and the earth is the reason why the mallorn trees thrive there and nowhere else in Middle-earth. Use it sparingly, and your own forest will rapidly become lush and green once again, as it was in years past. And along with the soil and the expedited growth of the trees comes a new name for your woodland. From this point on, Mirkwood is no more. It will now be known as Eryn Lasgalen, the Wood of Greenleaves.”

Legolas closed the lid and bowed his head, “Thank you, Lord Celeborn, and to Lady Galadriel also.” He looked out over the forest, his eyes moistening. “My father and mother are no doubt hearing this too. They would be relieved to know that the shadow has finally lifted. I know it’s what they wanted most of all, to live in the light and love each other eternally.”

Celeborn stood beside Legolas. “I may not have agreed with your father, but I know he loved my sister. And I know she was happy with him.” He gave Legolas his attention. “I hope you find something just as true and pure with Calariel as your parents found within each other.”

“I love her and she loves me,” Legolas simply said. “For us, that’s all that matters.”

Celeborn turned to the landscape again, “Remember what you have just said, and take it into consideration when you make your choice about going to Gondor.”

Legolas furrowed his brow as he regarded Celeborn, still unsure of his meaning or of the warning from Galadriel. “I will,” he agreed.


	42. The White City At Last

After Celeborn and Legolas met on the hill, they rode back to the city silently, each in their own contemplation. Legolas wasn’t sure what was on his uncle’s mind, but his own thoughts led in many directions. Why wouldn’t Celeborn allow the official crowning until he returned from Gondor? Why did Lady Galadriel warn him against going to Gondor? What would happen if he ignored her?

They had made it to the gates of the cavern when Celeborn stopped and turned his horse so that he came up alongside Legolas, looking him squarely in the eyes. “The choice is yours, Legolas, but do not take Galadriel’s counsel lightly.”

“Can you not tell me what it is about?” asked Legolas, in a vain attempt to find out more.

Celeborn shook his head. “I cannot, for I do not know what she saw, and I know better than to question my lady when she has looked into her mirror. I am her husband, but the mirror is her burden and hers alone. Only if she wishes to share her findings, would I know of those events.”

Legolas wondered if Galadriel thought Celeborn might try to interfere in some way, had he known what exactly she saw in her vision. A thought occurred to him then. “Did she share her knowledge with you when you made the decision not to send aid to Mirkwood?”

Celeborn’s eyes narrowed, “What is this?”

Legolas returned the vehement stare and spoke slowly, pronouncing each word carefully. “Did she share her vision with you?”

“That is none of your concern,” Celeborn returned.

“It IS my concern,” Legolas responded through clenched teeth. “I was there. I saw the bloodshed and the death. I witnessed the burning and the devastation. And the one thing you have not set straight is the reason why you ignored my father.”

Celeborn would not answer, his lips drawing together in a thin line. Anger darted from his ancient eyes as he set his silence. He dismounted in a flash of white. Legolas did not hesitate and followed, gracefully jumping down from Arod’s back.

“As son of Thranduil, heir to his kingdom and rightful King of Mirkwood, you will tell me. Why did you let Mirkwood burn?” Legolas commanded. “What did Galadriel’s mirror foresee?”

Celeborn spun around so fast, Legolas almost walked into him, but he stopped and stood face to face with the Noldo lord. There was nowhere to go other than across the newly repaired stone bridge or back into the forest. Legolas was furious, and had half a mind to throw Celeborn into the river. He gave a flitting thought to his friends. Théodred would have had no qualms about throwing the stubborn Noldo into the water and fishing him out before he sunk.

Celeborn must have seen the savageness in Legolas’ eyes, for his animosity fell away, leaving him looking defeated. He allowed his shoulders to relax slightly and turned to the side as he finally gave Legolas the answer he sought. “It would not have mattered in the case of your father’s life. Thranduil was destined to die, with or without Lothlórien’s help.”

Legolas looked away in shock, “And you saw this?”

“Through Galadriel’s thoughts, yes.”

“But what about the others? You could have saved other wood elves from their fate, even if my father was to die.”

Celeborn shook his head slowly. “It was more complicated than that, Legolas. You see, had I sent my great army to help Mirkwood, your father would not have tried to get you out of the city. He would have hid you away within the caves, and… you would have perished also.”

It had never occurred to Legolas to consider his own outcome, and a shiver ran up his spine.

Celeborn continued, “That would only have been the beginning. The Galadhrim would have suffered great loss, and some of those that you have gotten to know… Haldir and his brothers, even Túrdir… they would have been killed. The numbers of my army would have been devastated without its most valiant captains, leaving Lothlórien’s protection weakened. This was what the enemy meant to do. Then they would have invaded the Golden Woods, nearly obliterating it. The cost was too great, and the enemy’s victory over both elven realms would have strengthened Sauron considerably.”

“And Rohan? Gondor?” Legolas asked in a whispered tone.

“I cannot say, for I did not see that far, but I cannot help to feel that it would only have been a matter of time for Men also.”

Legolas walked absently to a fallen log, no doubt one of the destroyed trees, put there to be salvaged or discarded. It still smelled faintly of stale smoke. He plopped down, not caring whether he befouled his clothes on the blackened bark or not. His elbows rested on his knees and his fingers raked through his loose hair. He heard Celeborn’s soft booted feet step up behind him, and for the first time since meeting the elf lord, felt the elder elf’s compassion as a gentle yet strong hand clasped his shoulder.

“Legolas, I…” Celeborn started, unable to find the right words. “I made the choice that I thought was right. As much as your father and I disliked each other, I never would have wished for his death. There was nothing I could have done for him. It was his fate. The decision I made has haunted me for all these years. Sometimes, when those ghosts would visit me, the only thing that would drive them away was to remember what happened when Thranduil took your mother, my sister, with him to Mirkwood. The hatred that sat in my heart grew for your father, and I asked myself, would any of this have come to pass if he had left her alone? Would I not have had to make the decision to leave Mirkwood to its fate if she hadn’t loved him? Would she still be alive?”

Legolas’ heart went out to Celeborn. What an awful thing to have to live with, yet. . .

“We cannot change the past, and so we cannot dwell on the choices that we have already made.” Legolas looked at the fair hand resting on his shoulder. “My father was right about the Noldor. They cannot look ahead, for the regret of what they have left behind keeps their heads turned away.”

“And can you say you have no regrets, young prince?” asked Celeborn, turning the question onto Legolas.

“I have them, but I left them behind,” Legolas responded.

* * *

Celeborn stayed a few more days, and on the night before he and his company set out for Lothlórien, a feast was prepared. It was announced that Mirkwood, by the grace of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, had been renamed to Eryn Lasgalen. Then, the first of the special soil was sprinkled upon the forest floor, where beech tree saplings had been planted. If they grew as rapidly, hearty and tall as was predicted, they would become the support for the first flets built in the new section.

The tension between Celeborn and Legolas dissipated, somewhat, though not completely. They tolerated each other better than before, but they were both very set in their ways. Legolas was relieved when the elf lord left for home. Things would get back to a normal pace, but Legolas still had an important decision to make.

“I wish I knew more,” Legolas admitted as he and Calariel discussed the warning from Galadriel. “I really can’t see what harm might come to me if I go to Gondor.”

“That is why she sent you this message. If Galadriel saw something within her mirror, then you should heed her advice,” Calariel said. They sat together on a chaise in Legolas’ rooms. Her head rested upon his shoulder, and her feet were tucked up under her skirts.

Legolas absently twirled a strand of her soft dark hair. “But how can I not go and represent Eryn Lasgalen, especially now?”

“You’ll send someone in your place… Indon perhaps, or Merco. They are trustworthy and dedicated to their new home. They will represent us well,” she recommended.

“And I plan to title them as my chief counselors as soon as I am officially crowned.” He smiled against her cheek, placing a kiss upon her, “But it should be I who goes.”

She lifted her head and looked at him pleadingly. “Please, Legolas, let it be someone else.”

He gave a reassuring smile, “These are my friends, people who I fought beside, people who looked to me and I to them. They will be expecting me to come. And I have not seen Eomer since the death of his uncle. If for no other reason, it should be to see him and his sister. Don’t I owe them at least that much?”

“I know you love them as though they were your own flesh and blood, but you have other duties to attend to now,” Calariel implored. “That should be your main concern, Lasgalen, not Gondor.”

“Calariel,” he sighed, thinking she was being ridiculous.

“No, Legolas, you must take Galadriel’s advice to heart,” Calariel insisted. “To go without considering her words is reckless and foolish. The Lady does not share her visions freely, and only when it is a serious or altering moment.” She was becoming angry with him for taking this so lightly.

Legolas looked down into her eyes, and saw her worry for his wellbeing. Perhaps he hadn’t given it careful thought. He took her hands in his, bringing them to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Go with me then. If something should befall me, then at least I’ll have you there.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said shyly, looking away.

“Please, Calariel. I want you to meet them. I want them to see how fortunate I’ve been, and how beautiful you are.” Now Legolas was the one pleading, capturing her with his unavoidable stare. He’d always known how to seize a woman with his piercing blue eyes, and hold her prisoner until he broke the bond. Calariel was more of a challenge, and he thought it must have been because she was an elf, but she would still submit to his sultry gaze. “I want them to know that I love you, and that one day you will be my wife.” He moved closer, taking her in his arms, and kissed her thoroughly, leaving her breathless so that all she could do to answer was nod and whisper.

“Yes, I’ll go,” she finally agreed.

He kissed her again, this time slowly, more passionately… the kind of kiss that usually led to far better adventures. She gave in, and his pulse raced. She’d been very diligent about tradition. Once he got her father’s approval, they would court for a year. Then there would be a proper betrothal, ceremony and all that was expected before they married. And not until after they’d spoken their vows would he have her completely, joining as one in body and in soul for all eternity.

But the lack of her resistance to his fiery kiss made him think she might consider breaking tradition. For just one night, he wanted to know what her naked body felt like. For one night, he would have her writhing beneath him, crying his name. For just one sensuous, blissful, tempestuous night he would make her. . .

“Legolas,” she begged breathlessly, interrupting his thoughts.

“Mph,” he answered, his face buried in her neck, nipping and taking in her delicate scent.

“Legolas, I—” she gasped. The tip of his tongue traced up the side of her neck.

“So do I… very badly,” he moaned into her ear.

“I… I…” She was lost to his ministrations, and when his mouth found her ear, she thought she’d lost all sense of reality. “You’re making this very difficult.”

He smiled against her neck. “That’s the point, my love.”

“And I want to… just as badly, but—” she said, cutting her words short, hoping he would honor her pleas.

It was too good to be true, and Legolas reluctantly pulled away from her. He should have known better than to give in to his temptations. He knew this was not what she wanted, but rather what his carnal desires needed. It was very difficult being a traditional ellon.

“We should go where there are others around. I don’t think it is a good idea for us to be alone,” he admitted.

“Good idea,” she agreed.

Legolas got up from the chaise, offered her a hand, and helped her up. Then he walked to the door, opening it for her. He smiled cordially and gestured for her to go first. Calariel smiled and went to him. She took one step into the threshold, spun around and grabbed the door handle. “Oh, forget it.” She shut the door and pushed Legolas against it, ravaging his mouth.

Legolas was taken completely by surprise, but he gave her what she wanted. Hands roamed, bodies touched, her leg came up and wrapped around his.

“I thought you wanted to follow tradition,” he said between kisses.

Calariel stopped and gazed into his hungry eyes. “Do you love me?” she asked rather abruptly.

“Of course, you know I do,” he answered.

“And do you speak the truth when you say that you want to marry me?”

“If it’s a lie, then let me die a thousand deaths.”

“And do you promise to never change, Laiqalassë Thranduilion, to never follow strict tradition, and to be uniquely yourself?”

He smiled down at her and cupped her face, “I can only live the way I know how. I’ve been taught many things by many different people, whether they be Men or Elves, but the one thing they have said, the one thing that they commonly share when it comes to advice, is to follow my heart ... and it has led me to you.”

“Oh, Legolas,” she said, and her arms snaked around his neck drawing him down to meet her lips. They kissed fervently, and when they separated, she whispered in his ear, “Take me to your bed.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Never more,” she answered with a wicked smile.

* * *

It had been a long journey to Gondor. Living on the road was tiresome. The sanctity of a luxurious bed had spoiled him, and he made a mental note to change that. He should never forget what it meant to lie down on leaves and grass, to be sung into reverie by the chirping lull of tree frogs while the stars glimmered overhead. Especially the stars, he thought.

Still, it was a relief to finally come to the gates of the White City, Minas Tirith, and never had Legolas seen a grander sight. He had never come this far, never seen the city. It was a massive and impressive piece of architecture, even with the visible damage to the lower sections. It looked like part of the mountain, and in fact it was, as though the mountain had pushed the great city from its belly like an offering to Men. Legolas dismounted and looked straight up. It was dizzying to say the least, and he wondered how long it took to reach the highest level where the Citadel housed the King.

People rushed to and fro. Carts bursting with supplies entered through the wide gates, while empty ones came out at a hurry. Preparations were well underway for the coronation of the new King of Men. The Fourth Age was unfolding before his very eyes, and the elves would be leaving in larger numbers now. It was a fact that the new age belonged to Men, but Legolas wished to see it. He had never felt the urge to leave Middle-earth, and he hoped it would be a long time before he too was called to the Undying Lands.

Calariel rode at his side, and she looked just as mesmerized as he did. Legolas smiled, glad to see her surprise. “It’s a beautiful sight, is it not?”

“I’ve never seen the like,” she said, mouth hanging agape as her eyes looked up and up. “I think it touches the clouds.” She swayed slightly, but caught herself, her hands wrapping around her horses mane. Then she brought her gaze back to Legolas. “How many people do you think live within this place?”

“Into the thousands, no doubt,” he answered as he watched the moving shapes on every level of the city. 

“How will you find your friends?” Calariel asked.

Legolas closed his eyes and listened to all the different noises. There were children’s yells, and mothers complaining about their horseplay, men barking orders or laughing with friends, a constant chorus of horse’s hooves clopping over the cobblestone roads, and in the distance, the constant clinking of iron hitting stone. Mason workers, he thought, and smiled. “I know where I will find one of them. Come,” he called as he urged Arod forward through the gates.

They made their way to the third level where the masons were busy at work, repairing the broken walls and any other objects having to do with stone. The road leading right was clear, but to the left it was blocked. The devastation to this area made it dangerous, and only the workers were allowed to go that way. A guard was stationed there, to avert traffic. Legolas and Calariel stopped to speak to him.

“I have a friend that I believe is working here somewhere,” he had told the guard, but was refused entry.

“Please,” said Calariel in her most charming voice. “He has not seen him since before the war, and he wishes to know he is alright.”

“I’m sorry, lady elf, but no one is allowed—” the guard refused again, only to be interrupted by a gruff voice.

“Is that the pointy eared fiend who cheated me at my own game, snuck off in the middle of the night, and left me to rot in a seedy old tavern?”

Legolas smiled and eyed the stout figure stomping heavy footed towards him. “I came back as I said I would, did I not, Master Dwarf?”

Gimli chortled, “That ye did, laddie, and ye brought with you a fine assortment of archers.” He closed the distance between them, stopping just in front of Legolas, cocked his head to the side, and squinted as he looked up at the elf. “You missed all the excitement around here, but you’re just in time for the rebuilding. Don’t suppose you brought more than just the pretty lady here. We could use the help.”

Legolas looked past the dwarf’s head, and saw a good sized company of dwarves and men working diligently on the broken city. Legolas gestured in their direction with a nod of his head. “I’d say you’ve already found yourself decent help.”

Gimli brushed a hand over Legolas’ fine green cloak, made of expensive silk and edged in gold thread leaves. “Oh… well, wouldn’t want to begrime that fancy robe ye wear,” he jested. Then his eyes fell upon Calariel, standing off behind them, and he winked a bushy brow at her.

“Now, now, Gimli,” said someone new to the conversation, a sweet melody that Legolas hadn’t heard in months. “You must watch your tongue when speaking to an elf king.”

Legolas turned and saw Eowyn, his heart leaping as he laid eyes on her. His smiled broadened as she ran to him, and they embraced each other tightly. She was laughing as he lifted her from the ground and spun her around. Then he put her down and gazed upon her lovely face. “I have not heard you laugh like that since we were children, and it is like a sweet melody to my ears.” He instantly took her hands and began observing her arms. “How are you? Have you healed? Are there any scars?”

Eowyn laughed, “I am fine. Yes, completely. And only a tiny one on my heart when you had to go away.” She hugged him again and whispered in his ear, “I have missed you, Legolas.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he whispered in return. “I’ve missed all of you, and I’m sorry I could not be here.”

She released him, and a trace of tears had begun to pool. But she blinked them away promptly, and regained her composure. Still the shield maiden, he thought to himself.

“And what about Eomer? How is he? Is he here?” Legolas asked anxiously.

“Yes, he’s here. He’s… fine,” she said hesitatingly.

Legolas lowered his chin and raised a brow in question to her halting words.

“He’s fine, Legolas,” she assured. “But it has been a hard time and a long road for him. You know this well, for you were with him through most of it. To look at him, you’d see nothing wrong, but I know his heart has been broken more times than a man should have to manage. He is resilient, though.”

“Of course he is. He’s a Rohir,” Legolas said proudly. “But I imagine Théoden’s death took its toll on him. When I read your letter, my own heart broke, and I regretted not being here. I still wonder, if I had not gone… if I had stayed and fought with him—”

“I was with him, and even I could not have protected him from what was meant to be his fate,” Eowyn answered.

Legolas instantly thought of Galadriel, and of how she had said the same thing about Théoden’s fate.

“He died proud,” Eowyn continued, “and he is with his forefathers now.” She hugged him once more, and Legolas returned the gesture, holding her solidly in his arms. He reveled in the feel of familiarity, something he hadn’t known he’d longed for until now.

There was a deep grumbling of someone clearing their throat, and Legolas and Eowyn separated, ending their welcome. They turned to find Gimli standing with Calariel, both forgotten during the reunion.

Gimli gave Legolas an authoritative glare. “Tis a good woman who does not rage with jealousy at the sight of her man in the arms of another lass.”

Legolas immediately turned red from his neck to his ears, and gave the dwarf a dangerously piercing stare. Then he reached out and took Calariel’s hand, pulling her to him as he faced Eowyn. “I forget that you have not met before. “Eowyn, this is Calariel of Lothlórien, my. . .” He hesitated and looked at his love. She gave her approval with a nod. “My betrothed,” he finished. “Calariel, this is my… adopted sister,” he said glaring at Gimli, “the Lady Eowyn of Rohan.”

With the formalities out of the way, and informed as to where guests were staying—since the usual third level guest quarters were inhabitable because of the damage—Legolas said his farewells for the moment and helped Calariel get astride her horse. He was about to mount Arod, when Eowyn asked to speak to him once more. She pulled him away from the others and spoke quietly.

“I must tell you something, before you see Eomer,” she said shyly. “He was not very happy to learn of your relation to King Thranduil, or rather, he was not happy that I knew and he did not.”

Legolas smiled, thinking it silly that she worried about something so trivial, “I’m sure he hasis recovered from his anger by now. Besides, I told him to ask you, for there was no time for me to explain.”

Eowyn nodded, nervously twiddling her fingers.

“What else?” Legolas asked, a little demanding in tone.

“Well, I was injured, struck with the Shadow Fever, the healers called it. I wasn’t myself at the time. It was as though I hung in the balance between the world of the living and that of the doomed.” She had explained in her letter, about the injury she received from the Nazgûl’s weapon, striking her arm and breaking it in many places. Very much like the stab wound delivered to Frodo’s shoulder when he was attacked with the Morgul blade, Eowyn’s injuries, if left untreated longer than they had been, would have cast her into the Shadow world of Sauron’s Wraiths. It had been the healing knowledge of Aragorn that saved her and brought her back to her loved ones.

“Eomer was emotionally drained, what with our uncle’s death, and then finding me close to death myself. I have no doubt that my deteriorated condition left him scared, but when my brother is terribly shaken with fear, he turns to anger to quell the panic felt in his heart. I was heavy with fever, and I know he must have thought I was near my end. The only way he knew to keep me from slipping further into darkness was to berate me for being... how did he put it? ‘The only woman foolish enough to protect her men by becoming one herself.’” She paused and laughed. “Anyways, I may have been in a fevered state of delusion, but I still had some fight in me, and I stood up for my actions and my reasons for doing so. And I… well, I…” she stammered. “I might have let it slip about… Dernhelm.”

Legolas cocked a brow. “So he knows about your alias and the spare armor?”

She nodded, but he could see there was something more she’d not told him. He crossed his arms and stared at her with the slits of his blue eyes. “What else?”

“I… I might have let it slip… that… that y-you knew my secret as well,” she said sheepishly, like a child waiting for a parent to yell. “He didn’t take too kindly to that.”

Legolas stood staring through her as visions manifested of Eomer skewering him with his own long knives, tying him to a target, and then striking him with a slew of arrows as though he were a practice dummy. He closed his eyes and slapped the palm of his hand to his forehead. “No,” he finally said, “I reckon he wouldn’t take kindly to knowing that his best friend withheld information that might have saved his sister from harm.”

“I’m sorry. I never would have told him if he hadn’t taken advantage of my debilitated state,” she said apologetically.

He forced a smile, “Well, I guess I better get this over with then.” What had been anticipation for a joyous reunion, now felt as though he was going to slaughter. He mounted Arod with less enthusiasm, and he and Calariel made their way to the next level, where they would find temporary housing for their stay in Minas Tirith. It wasn’t until after they started off that Legolas noticed Gimli sitting behind Calariel.

Gimli shrugged and chortled quietly behind his full beard, “I’d rather not miss a good brawl.”

Legolas rolled his eyes and they continued on their way.

* * *

They’d found decent living quarters, nothing fancy, but comfortable… a quiet haven where he and Calariel could disappear from the constant bustle and chaos that was common in a Man city. She was not used to such a fast paced lifestyle. Eryn Lasgalen was not as relaxed an atmosphere as Lothlórien, where it seemed that time stopped, but neither was it as fast paced as Gondor.

Legolas was used to it though. Rohan had felt similar in a way, and he knew that the anticipation of the King’s coronation drove people to behave more erratically than they might normally have been. “They are human and their years are already counted out and laid before them. If you had the lifespan of a mayfly, you’d live life quickly too.” It was an exaggerated comparison. He knew the insect only lived the expanse of a day, but comparing Men to Elves and their immortality, it seemed fitting.

“And you are comfortable with this?” she asked. It seemed Calariel was having a difficult time understanding the ways of human life.

“For a long time it was all that I knew. Most of the people I know are older than me, and though I will live on until the end of all things, these people will always feel as though they are my elders. I don’t look forward to watching them age and weaken, eventually succumbing to death. And still, I am fascinated by it.”

“I’m not sure I could sit by and watch my friends grow old while I retained my youthfulness. Why, you could watch generations of one family blossom and wither, and not age a day yourself. I think that my heart would constantly break,” she said as she freshened up from their journey.

Legolas had changed into his usual wood elf raiment of tunic, leggings and boots. He left the noble’s cloak lying at the foot of his bed. Then he went to where Calariel sat in front of a small vanity, brushing out her hair, and the dust from the road along with it. He bent down and kissed the side of her neck, watching her face in the mirror. “I’m glad I’ll always have you with me. It will make it easier when the time comes for me to say goodbye to my friends.”

She turned to the side and cupped his face with her free hand. “You will always have me, Legolas.”

Finished refreshing themselves and dressed in clean clothes, Legolas and Calariel made their way along the cobbled street, taking in the sights and smells of the city. This level was for guests and had everything one might need while staying in the city. There were taverns and farriers, bakeries and carpenters, food stalls, a cobbler, a tanner, and even a rat catcher. Calariel laughed at the wooden sign that hung out front, a ferocious looking creature with yellow eyes and a mouthful of sharp teeth.

“So they hire someone to catch vermin instead of doing it themselves?” she asked.

“I think that is more for the businesses rather than individual homes, unless they are bombarded with the pests,” Legolas answered. It was a bit funny. Rohan had no rat catcher. Usually the children took on that chore, or they adopted a cat who earned its keep by catching its own meals. “I’m unfamiliar with the routines of a city of this size.”

“You!” someone bellowed from across the street. “There you are, you bastard.”

Legolas cringed, took a deep breath and turned to meet his opponent, smiling wide, “Eomer! Long has it been, my friend. I’ve been looking forward to this reunion.”

Eomer, taller and broader than Legolas had remembered, came tromping across the street. Legolas took notice of the businesses on that side, and was relieved to not find a tavern among the mix. It didn’t mean Eomer hadn’t already been to one though.

Legolas stood his ground, arms at his sides as a sign of submission, but he waved his hand, gesturing for Calariel to move back a few feet, just in case. Eomer didn’t stop until he was face to face with the elf. The two friends eyed each other, no smile, no words, just silently measuring one another’s moods.

Finally, Eomer spoke first, “You knew about my sister’s secret?”

“I did,” Legolas answered tersely.

“And you did not tell me what she had in mind to do?”

“I swore not to tell a soul, and an elf always upholds an oath,” Legolas answered honestly. “And besides, I never thought she’d actually do anything.”

“Eowyn? Not do anything? And am I supposed to believe that?” Eomer was trying hard to keep up his charade, but the exuberance of seeing his friend again, and knowing he was well was just too much. A smile slowly crept across his lips and he flung his arms around the elf. “Aye, Legolas, you should have seen your face just now. What did you think I was going to do, demand a duel right here in the middle of the street?”

It was still registering that Eomer was only jostling him, but Legolas raised his arms and hugged his adopted brother. “I thought for sure I was cast from your good graces.”

Eomer released the elf and laughed heartily, “Ha, ha… well, as part of her punishment, I made Eowyn tell you that I already knew all about the deception. Thought I’d let you sweat it out a bit first. I didn’t mean to terrify you.”

Legolas straightened himself, “I am not terrified. I just didn’t look forward to having to kill you in self-defense.”

Eomer laughed again, thinking it a ridiculous notion, and patted Legolas on the back with a heavy hand. “It’s good to see you, my brother.” Then he glanced over the elf’s shoulder, eyeing the girl. “And I see the elleth is still with you. Afraid to let you out of her sight, is she?”

Legolas turned and waved a frightened-looking Calariel to him. “He was only jesting, my love. You’ll remember Eomer I suppose.”

“Yes, of course,” she smiled, “And I thank you for not maiming my betrothed.”

Eomer’s eyes grew wide, “Betrothed? Well then, congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you kindly,” Calariel responded, though she still seemed a bit hesitant to whether or not Eomer was being sincere. She didn’t know him very well, and even though they had all traveled together to Isengard, she had stayed with Legolas or the company of elves rather than acquainting with the men.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, lady elf,” Eomer bowed. Then he looked at Legolas. “I’ve just missed my friend immeasurably as of late. It’s not been the same without you.”

“Och, are you going to bash each other’s skulls in or not?” said Gimli, arriving late for the reunion.

“No, Gimli, sorry to disappoint you,” Eomer replied.

“Well, I guess it wouldn’t have been appropriate in front of the lady anyways,” Gimli complained.

“Perhaps before the day is over, we’ll all three share in a round. The ale here is not as potent as the stuff in Edoras, but it still does the trick.” Eomer looked to Calariel quickly, “If my lady does not mind us stealing her man away for an hour or so.”

Gimli harrumphed, “Or so, ha.”

Legolas took notice of the friendliness between his friend and the Dwarf. “You two have gotten to know each other it seems,” he said to Eomer.

“We fought together at the Black Gates,” said Eomer.

“I told him,” Gimli explained, “that I’d be honored to fight alongside the man who taught the elf everything he knows.” He laughed at Legolas’ expense.

“Then he challenged me to a contest, keeping count of our kills,” said Eomer.

“And I won,” Gimli added quickly. “I’m two for none. Not even your elf friend could defeat me in kills.”

Legolas smiled, remembering their game as they fought at Helm’s Deep. “I guess we’ve been bested by the best.”

“Ha! And don’t you forget it, Master Elf.” Gimli winked comically.

As the three friends were reminiscing, Eowyn came and took Calariel by the arm, whispering in her ear, then led her away. Calariel looked back and waved to Legolas, who did the same in reply. He was glad Eowyn was rescuing her from the men’s conversation. He’d felt bad for her, watching the three of them laugh and talk about the past, while she stood by and pretended to be interested. He just hoped Eowyn didn’t tell her too much about himself, and there were plenty of embarrassing stories to tell.

* * *

Five rounds and three hours later, Legolas, Gimli and Eomer were still having a good time in each other’s company. Eomer was right about the ale, but neither of the other two complained. It was just good to be together again.

“If you’d told me a year ago that I’d be sitting in a tavern in Minas Tirith, enjoying the company of a Rohir and an Elf, I’d of said you were touched in the head,” Gimli announced.

“We do seem to make an odd trio,” Legolas agreed.

“Have you looked around you since you’ve arrived? There is a culmulation of races here, and all of them blending quite well,” Eomer pointed out.

Gimli nodded, “Has to do with wartime and peace. Individual races differ, of course, but we all shared one common enemy. We had to come together to fight against it, and in this hour of victory, we all celebrate as one.”

Eomer and Legolas looked at each other, and then to Gimli, who was just finishing the last of his cup, and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“I believe the dwarf makes sense,” Eomer said.

“Quick! Bring me a quill and ink. We need to make note of this,” Legolas jested.

Gimli grinned through his bushy beard, “Ye may not be related by blood, but you’re as ornery as brothers from the same womb.” Gimli stood from his chair, and flipped a few coins on the table. “Well gentleman, Master Elf, I’m afraid I must be going. There’s too much to do tomorrow, and I cannot risk feeling as though I’ve been sat on by a mûmak. I trust I’ll see you at some point.”

“We’ll be around,” Legolas replied. “Goodnight, Master Dwarf.”

Eomer and Legolas turned back to their mugs after seeing Gimli off. Both were in deep thought.

“You know,” Eomer said, “He makes a good point. It’s been a very long time since so many different people were in the same place, living harmoniously together. Look at the team of dwarves that Gimli scrounged up. They were all eager to start rebuilding the city. It’s as though they could not wait to start.”

“Have you seen other elves here?” Legolas asked curiously.

“I have, and I think they might be from Rivendell. They seem much different from the Lórien elves, more city wise. I heard that they have volunteered to begin reconstructing some of the gardens of Minas Tirith. They have a knack for intermingling living plants with stone.”

“I will have to see that for myself,” said Legolas anxiously. “I’ve never met any elves from Imladris.”

“Perhaps we will take a ride to Ithilien. That’s where they are now, rebuilding the ancient city. A good deal of it was destroyed or corrupted by the orcs, but there are areas that were untouched and are habitable,” Eomer suggested.

“Ithilien? I have heard of it. It has fallen in and out of the hands of the enemy many times through the ages, mainly because of its location, I think. But now that Mordor is emptied, it will not be tarnished again.”

Eomer nodded in agreement. “The elves have plans to make it into a city for all the people. There will be shops and houses, streets and gardens. Dwellings for Elves, Dwarves, and Men alike. It will be a miscellany of beings.”

Legolas was silent as he thought about Ithilien. A city for all people. It was an unusual concept, but very intriguing. 

“So, how should I refer to you now, King Legolas, Sire, His Majesty the King of Eryn Lasgalen?” Eomer asked facetiously.

“None of those,” Legolas replied. “I’ve not officially taken the crown yet.” He finished off his mug and set it down, waving to the servant girl to bring another. “And what about you? King Eomer of Rohan.”

Eomer stared into his half-filled mug. “It still doesn’t sound right to me. I should never have had to take up the throne.” He was sullen in tone, and Legolas felt his sorrow.

“Eowyn wrote and told me what happened. I’d never felt as lonely as I did when I read the news. After all that happened in Edoras with you, me and Théodred… Gríma and his deceit… Théoden coming back after casting off that spell… it almost seemed like we weren’t successful after all. And I wondered for a long time afterwards, had I been there… had I seen that Nazgûl… or Eowyn… could I have been the difference? If I had gone to Gondor, would Théoden still be alive?”

Eomer nodded, but he was lost to his own thoughts. “It should have been Théo here, not me. I don’t feel I have a right to the throne. I am naught but a sister-son.”

“You are a good and honest man, Eomer. You are someone that the people trust, someone they will support and give their approval to. Do not sell yourself short, man,” Legolas persuaded. “Théo and your uncle would have been proud. You will make a fine king for Rohan.”

As they talked, three men and a woman entered the tavern. They all looked similar to one another, and Legolas thought they must be siblings. The woman was very comely, with sleek brown hair and fair skinned, so fair, in fact, that he almost mistook her for an elf. Eomer was watching her also. Then, as though she sensed it, the woman turned to look back over her shoulder, her amber eyes falling on Eomer and nothing else. Legolas stayed quiet and observed. Could he be witnessing the first look between future lovers? The gaze they shared could have produced lightening, at least the static in the room made it feel that way. And then one of the men, a brother no doubt, interrupted the moment, and she turned back to her company. Eomer still looked on though, his focus on the beautiful woman.

“Well, if you are King, then you will need a queen before too long. You’ll need to produce an heir,” Legolas said.

Eomer did not seem to hear him, as he was still gawking over the brown haired beauty. “Huh?” he said absently.

Legolas smiled to himself, “Go introduce yourself, but be wary of her brothers. They look like they keep a sharp eye on their sister.”

Finally, Eomer dropped his gaze to address Legolas. “How do you know they are related? Have you met them before?”

“I don’t know for sure, but they all have the same straight nose and high cheekbones. There’s only one way to find out though.”

“Oh… well I… it would be rude to leave you—”

“Nonsense,” said Legolas, as he dropped some coins on the table, adding to the ones Gimli left earlier. “I should be going anyways. Calariel will be wondering about me.”

“If she’s still with Eowyn, it will be girl talk and giggling all night. I swear, ever since she met the new Steward in the Healing Houses, she’s been unbearable,” Eomer complained.

“Wait a moment. What’s this about Eowyn? She did not mention anything when I saw her earlier. Who is this Steward you speak of?” Legolas asked curiously.

“Lord Faramir, son of Denethor, the previous Steward who went mad and tried to burn himself and his own son in some deranged ritual.” Eomer paused to notice the confusion on Legolas’ face. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

Legolas shook his head, “No, but do tell.”

“Well, Faramir was not spared injury, and when he was sent to supervise the army in Osgiliath, he was struck down by the Black Breath of the Nazgûl, mortally wounding him. Thinking him dead, some of his men were bringing his body back to the city, but it was soon discovered that he still lived. His father, Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor, had lost all sense of reality by that time. He saw no hope in his son’s survival, and decided to burn him like they do for the kings who pass on. He wasn’t dead though, and Gandalf saved him, but his father wasn’t as fortunate. Crazed with hopelessness, Denethor lit himself like a beacon and jumped to his death, right off of the end of the great spire. Faramir was sent to the Houses of Healing, and was treated along with Eowyn, both having acquired injuries from the Ring wraiths. It was Aragorn who knew what to do for them. He has a great knowledge for healing. I owe him more than I know how to repay, for saving Eowyn.” Eomer’s shoulders slumped and his head hung low over the table as he remembered finding her lifeless and injured on the battlefield, his uncle not far from her, dying, crushed beneath his dead steed, Snowmane.

“I thought she was dead,” he went on. “And I saw Théoden was still clinging to life, so I went to him. That’s when he told me to take up his crown. I didn’t care about that though. I just wanted them back, both of them. I thought I’d lost them all… first Théo, then my uncle and my sister. And what on bloody earth was Eowyn doing in battle?” He stopped and shook his head. “For the first time in my life, I did not care if I died, for I’d never felt so alone.”

“But Eowyn was alive,” Legolas said, and he thought what a comfort that must have been at the time.

“She was, but just barely. She laid in her bed for days, still as a corpse but for the slow rise and fall of her chest. Aragorn was by her side the whole time, and I was too. But she made it through, though I don’t think the experience will ever leave her. She still wakes with nightmares.” He smiled huffed a laugh through his nose. “They’ve happened less often since she’s befriended Faramir. They spent a lot of time together in the Healing Houses, for they had similar injuries. And I think he truly cares for her. I’ve spoken to him a time or two. Faramir is a good man.” Eomer reached for his mug, the tension and sadness finally released with the telling of his story. He drank the rest of his ale, emptying the glass, and smiled. “He’ll have his hands full if he decides to court my sister. But then, that will free me from being her guardian.”

“Well, I think she will always need her brother,” Legolas said. He noticed the woman looking at Eomer again and gestured with a nod. “Are you going to do something?”

Eomer looked at the woman, who gave him a fleeting smile. He tilted his head in a subtle gesture of acknowledgement. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Enjoy the hunt, O Mighty King of the Riddermark. And I want details tomorrow,” Legolas jested. He and Eomer said goodnight, and Legolas made his way back to the guest quarters. He had his own idea of a hunt, and Calariel was his prey. The journey to Gondor had been a long one with no privacy to spare, and they had some lost time to make up for… a whole night’s worth as a matter of fact. Legolas quickened his tread, and planned out his method of attack. Tonight Calariel would discover just how savage and beastly a wood elf could be.


	43. A New Kind Of Longing

Legolas awoke to the pale light of dawn filtering in through the tall window of the guestroom. He’d meant to roll over and scoop Calariel against him, enjoying the feel of her cradled against his chest, but her side of the bed was cold and vacant. Instantly, he was awake, finding her standing at the window, a silhouette against the dawning light. With the quiet stealth that only an elf can accomplish, he rose from his bed and went to her. She was beautiful this morning, long dark hair cascading down her back, wrapped in the sheet that fell from their bed. A cool breeze blew in through the open window, lifting her hair from her shoulders, making her nipples rise in answer. Thoughts of their adventures from the previous night made him stir. He stood naked behind her, simply admiring her before he spoke. But it was not enough to watch her, for he needed her again. Mornings were usually like this, his body craving satisfaction, like the final course of a lascivious meal, and Calariel filled every part of his voracity.

Legolas went to her, drew her against him, and looked over her shoulder. “What are you watching this morning?”

“I was just waiting for the day to break over the mountains,” she replied, a tone of longing in her voice. “I missed seeing the stars last night.”

“Well, we can see them tonight,” he said, smiling against her neck, “if you like.” He proceeded to nip at her neck, making her skin break into goose flesh.

She smiled and closed her eyes, relishing his ministrations. “You are very persuasive this morning.”

“Persuasive, hmm… perhaps if you were beside me when I awoke, I would not have needed to coax you back to bed.”

She allowed him to kiss her neck and bare shoulders, but when his hands pulled on the sheet, she resisted and spoke quickly to cover her actions. “Don’t you find it a bit stifling here, surrounded by all this stone?”

“I didn’t give it any thought,” he answered. He still hadn’t given up on his seduction.

“And don’t you miss the trees? And the stars—”

“Yes, you mentioned the stars,” he said curiously. “What are you getting at, Calariel?”

“I guess I just miss home is all.”

Legolas stopped what he was doing, and rested his chin on her shoulder. “We have been here less than a day, and already you are missing the forest?”

“Don’t get me wrong. Minas Tirith is beautiful, but it is missing something. There is no flora, but for the potted plants on the windowsills, and the only fauna are the horses.”

“I think it’s the people that make the mountain feel alive. Have you seen all the different races dwelling together? This has not happened for a very long time,” he answered.

“You and I see the city very differently,” she said a little sadly. “I do not long for the company of other races.”

Legolas released her and came to stand beside her at the window. “I do not long for it either, but I admire it. To think of Men, Elves and Dwarves all living and working side by side, no one demanding more for themselves… well… I think that alone is a great feat.”

Calariel smiled and looked up to see the pride in his eyes as he gazed out over the land. “You will always have a connection to them, won’t you… to Men, to the people who raised you.”

“It does not mean I do not wish to be amongst elves. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you.” He faced her, finding fear and sadness upon her countenance. “I love you too deeply, Calariel. You must know that.”

She turned to him, her eyes scanning his lean, finely toned body. “I do know, and I love you too, with all my soul.”

He pulled her to him, her body contouring against his, only the thin sheet separating them. “Hmm, I’m not quite sure you know just how much I need you,” he said playfully to rescue the moment.

“Shall I convince you, my liege?” she said wickedly, letting the sheet pool at her feet.

“By all means,” he answered, allowing Calariel to lead him back to their bed.

She pushed him, and he fell down onto the feather mattress. Her eyes traveled slowly along his body, finding his length coming alive. “Seems to me you don’t need all that much convincing.”

“Oh, I need it, trust me,” he smiled.

He watched her prowl to the bed, felt her hair tickling his thighs, and then melted as the warmth of her mouth engulfed him. Legolas hoped every morning could start this way.

* * *

The morning got away from them, and Legolas and Calariel started the day late, but fully sated. She decided to see if there was anywhere she was needed. Legolas would go to the higher levels, looking for his friends, and perhaps Aragorn. He would be crowned soon, and Legolas wanted to meet with him once more before he became too unreachable.

He had just started out when he came upon Eowyn heading the same way. She was excited to see him. She’d always been that way, even as children. But they were children no more. Eowyn had changed drastically since he last saw her in Edoras. At the time, she seemed so young. Now she was much more mature, a rapid change in such a short time. Eowyn had been through a lot, and seen more than most women could ever imagine. She’d gone off to war to fight for her loved ones, faced the King of the Nazgûl, and come close to death. And when they were together last, she was just a young innocent girl with dreams of winning the heart of the man that would now be her king.

“Legolas, I’ve been hoping to find you,” Eowyn sang with joy. “I have something to show you. Do you have a moment?”

“For you, always,” he smiled radiantly, the glow from his earlier activities still showing.

“City life seems to agree with you,” she said, noticing his extreme mood.

“I guess you could say that,” he answered, and felt the tips of his ears begin to burn.

Eowyn noticed, and blushed herself when she thought of him and Calariel. “You’re very cute when you’re in love. I’ve seen you look this way before, but I’ve never seen this true happiness.”

“I am truly happy indeed,” he answered. “Now, what have you found?”

“Come with me, to the Citadel. Have you been there yet?”

“No,” he said, allowing her to take his arm in hers. “Isn’t it far up?”

“Yes, all the way to the top. We’ll go to the stables first,” she said leading him there.

Once they were mounted, they took off for the uppermost level of the city. Upon their arrival, Legolas found himself in a beautiful, grass courtyard with a fountain in the center. A tree grew next to the fountain, its roots slithering over the side and into the water. He instantly knew the tree. He’d read about it while visiting the library in Lothlórien.

“This is the White Tree of Gondor, a descendent of Telperion,” he said amazed.

“You know about it then?” Eowyn asked.

“A little. I know it died after the last king of Gondor passed. No seedling was found to replace it, so it remained here.”

“I have heard through rumors, that it will be removed and placed in the Tombs of the Kings,” she said. “I wish I could have seen it bloom.”

“I wish it were alive also. Calariel misses the trees, and it would have been a fine distraction for her.”

Eowyn led Legolas inside the main hall of the Citadel, where she excitedly showed him a fire pit made of stone, and a group of benches surrounding it. “Does this remind you of—”

“Edoras,” he finished for her. “Yes, it does. I miss those days when we would sit and talk for hours.”

“So do I. I miss Edoras and Meduseld. I miss my uncle most of all.” As she spoke, she became more reserved.

Legolas gestured for her to sit on one of the benches, and he joined her. They were wooden benches, not the comfortable divan like the one in the Golden Hall, but the atmosphere was similar with a low fire burning and the logs hissing.

After they settled into a comfortable silence, Legolas spoke. “Was Eomer terribly upset when he found out about your deception?”

“What do you think? He was livid. He was torn between being scared for me and grieving for our uncle. I should not like to see him like that ever again, but I did what I needed to do.”

“But why, Eowyn? Why put yourself in danger?” Legolas asked.

“Because at the time I did not care whether I lived. I just wanted to see my family safe was all,” she answered. Eowyn settled against the back of the bench, and stared into the fire. Her voice came out distant and cold. “Because I offered my heart to the man I thought I loved, and he was reluctant to accept it. I’ll never forget his words. He said he could not give me what I sought.”

“You speak of Aragorn, don’t you?” Legolas asked, remembering Eomer’s concern about Eowyn’s longing for the Ranger. They’d both known that Aragorn was promised to another, but they hadn’t realized the depth of Eowyn’s love for him.

He felt for Eowyn, and started to wonder if Aragorn had not handled the situation well. “He did not hurt you, did he? He was not cruel or offensive?” Legolas didn’t think the man would behave in such a manner, but he did not know him very well.

Eowyn shook her head. “No, it was nothing like that. He only told the truth, and tried gently to spare my feelings. But there had been moments between us as we traveled back to Edoras after leaving Helm’s Deep. I… well, I thought there might have been something more. I am usually so careful with my heart, but this time, I just… I think I let myself fall in love. I tried not to be obvious about it, and I don’t think I was overbearing. We’d gotten to know each other while he and Gimli stayed in Edoras. And then we were called to help Gondor. I went with the troops to gather at Dunharrow. I swear, I had no intension of going any further with the army. I just wanted to be there and see the men off, but especially Aragorn. I’d resisted telling him my true feelings up until then. And with war on the horizon, I knew this might be my only chance to let him know. At least, if he felt the same for me as I did for him, maybe it would give him reason to fight, and to fight well, so that he would survive… for me. And then I’d found him and Gimli preparing their horses, ready to leave us all in the middle of the night. I didn’t understand why at the time, but I held nothing back and told him I loved him, if for no other reason than to make him stay. Instead, I’d never been so embarrassed, spilling my soul only to have him tell me he did not return the feelings, nor would he ever be able to. He had already promised his love to someone else. And then he was gone, and I was left numb.”

Legolas looked from the corner of his eye. “You told him of your love, and when he did not return it, you ran off with the army. That is not a reason to fight.”

“No?” she said, a bit perturbed. “Do you not fight for Calariel’s safety? Does she not fight for yours? How was my situation any different? I loved him, and his men loved him as they do their most trusted captain. They would have followed him into the fires of Mount Doom. Why should I not have the same right?” Eowyn smiled and huffed a laugh. “It started out that way. I wasn’t ready to give up on him yet. But once I was in Gondor, standing on the edge of Pelennor Fields, something else took over. The sword in my hand felt good. I knew without a doubt that I could win this fight, and by killing the enemy, I was saving the lives of those men around me. I forgot about Aragorn and my embarrassment, and I became a soldier of the Riddermark. Defending my country was all that mattered.”

“Aye, that’s what it feels like,” Legolas agreed. “You are a true warrior, Eowyn, and a brave soldier.”

Silence grew between them again, but they were comfortable with their private thoughts. Legolas’ heart went out to Eowyn. Unrequited love was not easy to forget. He could tell by her tone that Eowyn had loved Aragorn. “I’m sorry I was not there for you during your time of duress. It seems we have always been there for each other, but this time I could not be.”

Eowyn seemed to blush, and she looked down at her twisting fingers. “Well, I will admit that I missed your companionship, especially when everything went awry. You always did know the right things to say to make me feel better.” She reached out and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I suppose we will not be there for each other like we used to be.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, concerned.

“Well, your home is in Mirk—” she stopped to correct herself. “Eryn Lasgalen. And if I am not mistaken, the shine in your eyes and the flushing of your face can only mean that you and Calariel are… more than friends.”

Legolas smiled, his eyes crinkling into sparkling blue slivers, and gazed into the fire. “You are right. We are very much in love. As a matter of fact, we plan to marry when we return home.”

Eowyn seemed relieved to hear this news, “Oh, Legolas that is so wonderful. I knew you would find the right girl… uh… elf maiden. She is very lovely, and so kind and brave. You are perfect for each other.”

Sudden guilt filled his heart. “I should not speak of such happiness when my dearest Eowyn has a saddened heart.”

Eowyn sat up and scooted to the edge of the bench, bringing her feet to the stone floor. Legolas had wounded her pride, he thought. She seemed a bit perturbed. “Do not pity me, Legolas, for I have not told you all of my story.”

Legolas knitted his brow in question. “What do you mean?”

“Sad I was. Almost in despair after all that had happened to me. And my wounds took me to the edge of the shadow lands. The nightmares were unbearable, and sometimes I thought it best to just let them swallow me up. Yet, every time I was about to give in, something pulled me back, and I fought for another day. Again and again, wicked dreams tormented me to the point I could not see a reason to fight, but a voice, so sweet to my ears, led me back to the living world.”

“Eomer,” Legolas smiled, and thought of how his friend had stayed with his sister day and night until she awoke from her deep sleep.

“I thought so too, at first, but there was something very different. It was not my brother’s voice that called me back, though at times I could hear his prayers to Béma.” A smile escaped the corners of her mouth as the light of the fire danced upon her golden hair. “No, it was someone unfamiliar, yet his voice was beautiful, melodic, caring. And as I lay there, held prisoner by the shadow lands trying to claim my soul, his song became my refuge. I never saw his face or felt his touch, I didn’t’ know who he was, but my heart cried out to him, and I knew I loved him.”

“The elves call it the song of the fae or spirit, and when it happens, you know you have found your eternal mate.” Legolas meant to ask who this person was, but Eowyn anxiously interrupted him.

“Is that how it is for you and Calariel?” she asked, taking the attention away from her own story.

“It is. I felt it when I first found her injured in Fangorn forest. I had this uncontrollable urge to protect her and keep her from harm, as though to lose her would mean to lose a bit of myself.” Legolas moved to the edge of the bench, mimicking Eowyn’s position by the fire. He nudged her leg with his. “So tell me, who is this mysterious man? Was he there when you emerged from your dreams?”

“Well,” she began, “do you know who the Steward was?”

Legolas nodded slowly as he thought. “I believe his name was Denethor. He had a son, a close friend of Aragorn’s, if I’m not mistaken. He was slain by orcs while protecting some of his company.” Legolas stopped and considered this. “Do you think it was him speaking to you from beyond this world?”

“Boromir?” she responded. “Oh, no it was not him. I’d meant to say that Denethor had another son, the younger brother of Boromir. His name is Faramir.” She paused to smile and sighed as she stared dreamily into the fire. “I never get tired of hearing his name.”

The previous night, Eomer had spoken to Legolas about Faramir, but the elf chose to go along with Eowyn and her story. She should be allowed to tell her tale. “I know of Faramir. He was a Ranger, was he not? I believe Aragorn mentioned him once before.”

“Yes,” Eowyn answered, “He was their Captain, protecting the borders of Ithilien from the evil things that crawled out of Minas Morgul. He has taken up his father’s position at Steward of Gondor, only until Aragorn is crowned.” She paused as though this next bit of information was difficult to discuss, but the smile upon her pink lips spoke of true happiness. “Aragorn has offered him a new position as Chief Commander, in which his duty will be to maintain the eastern borders of Gondor, and he will settle in Ithilien.”

Legolas was glad for the young steward, but curious as to what had transpired between him and Eowyn. “And how does this pertain to you?”

She blushed, though it could have been the heat from the flames that brightened her cheeks. “I seemed to have gotten ahead of myself. You see, the voice in my dreams was Faramir. He had been mortally wounded as I had been. It was Aragorn whose knowledge of healing saved us both, and at the same time, it linked Faramir and me to each other. He’d recovered first and asked if he could help with my healing. He had told Eomer that he knew what it was that I was experiencing, for he too had been chased by the ever-growing darkness. And so I believe with all my heart that it was Faramir that kept the evil at bay. By the time I awoke, I knew who he was, and I fell in love with him. He admitted the same after spending unending hours by my side. We found each other through the despair pushed upon us, and we healed each other without knowing who the other one was.”

Legolas smiled, glad for her contentment, “So often, the soul knows what it wants, even before the mind has time to calculate. I am truly happy for you, my dearest Eowyn. You deserve it more than anyone. But what does Eomer think of all this?”

Eowyn bowed her head, “I’m sure my brother wants what is best for me.” She stood from the bench, turned to Legolas and reached for his hands. Legolas stood too, and predicted what she was about to tell him. The look on her face was as clear as a still lake.

“Eomer does not know this yet, but… Legolas, I am staying here… in Gondor. Faramir has asked for my hand. We are betrothed.”

His smile grew wider as his fingers squeezed hers, “My beautiful Eowyn, a Princess at last.”

“Things have changed so quickly, haven’t they? Eomer is King of Rohan, Aragorn, King of Gondor. Faramir is Prince of Ithilien, and we are to marry soon. And you,” she sang, bringing his hands to her lips, kissing his long fingers, “You are King of the Woodland realm of Eryn Lasgalen, soon to take a queen. If you had told me this before, I would not have believed a word of it.”

“It is quite unbelievable, isn’t it? But it is true and it is happening. From here on, our lives… all of us… will be much different. It is a little sad too. Gone are the days of Rohan and our youths.”

“Not for you,” said Eowyn, looking up into his bright blue eyes. “You are still young, and you have thousands of years to remain in your youth as an elf. I never thought much about it before, but I see it now. You are as unchanged now as you were several years ago, while Eomer and I have aged, maybe more than we should have since the war.”

This was the one thing that Legolas feared the most, watching his friends age. Until now, he had pushed the thoughts aside. As long as he was close to his friends, everything seemed to stay the same. But if he only saw them occasionally, he would see the changes in them, and that was breaking his heart.

“I wish we could all stay together,” he said sadly.

Eowyn cupped his face, her eyes misting over as she hid her sorrow with a smile. “It cannot be helped, dear elf. You were born with the gift of immortality.”

“I’ve never thought of it as a gift. I’ve never given it much thought at all.”

Eowyn released him and turned to the fire once more. “Well, at least now you will be with others like yourself, and you will live on forever so that your memories will keep the rest of us alive in your heart.”

He could not see her face, but as her hand reached up, Legolas knew Eowyn was shedding a tear. “You will come visit me in Eryn Lasgalen, won’t you?”

Her shoulders rolled back and her head came up as she recollected herself. Then she turned to Legolas, no trace of a tear on her face. “I look forward to seeing your home. Perhaps after the coronation, after the wedding, Faramir and I will journey to your woods.”

To lighten the mood, Legolas made a sour face. “Am I not invited to your wedding?”

Eowyn laughed, “Of course you are. I just thought with everything that’s happened, and your new position—”

“I would not miss your special day for all the mithril in Middle-earth,” he reassured her.

“Then will you stay for a while after the new King’s coronation?” she asked excitedly.

“Of course I will. I am not needed back home immediately. And I don’t think Calariel will mind.” He knew he shouldn’t speak for her, but he was confident that she would not go home without him.

Eowyn’s smile spread wide and she clapped her hands together. “I had hoped you might stay, but I wasn’t sure. And if you are positive about staying, then I have something I would like to ask of you.”

Legolas knitted his brows, unsure of what she was asking. “Go on and ask then.”

“Well, since we have always been there for each other through good and bad, then it seems appropriate that you are with me on my blessed day. Legolas, it would be an honor to have you escort me to my betrothed during the ceremony. Will you give this bride away, and make me the happiest shield maiden in Gondor?”

Legolas was surprised by her question. “Isn’t it proper for a family member to perform this task? I should think that Eomer would not miss the opportunity to give his sister away… once he knows about all of this, of course,” he said, reminding her that she still needed to tell her brother the good news.

“Silly ellon, you ARE family. You will always be a part of us, of Rohan.” Eowyn put her hands on her hips. “And I want this, so you cannot deny the bride-to-be.”

“I stand corrected,” Legolas jested. “Then I shall be proud to escort you to your new life… to your future as Princess.”

Eowyn threw her arms around Legolas’ waist, and hugged him until he thought he could not breathe. “You have made me so happy. Thank you. Thank you for being there.”

Legolas closed his eyes and held her to him, memorizing the moment. It was times like this one that he would miss about his Rohirric family, the closeness, the instant gratification of seeing their faces or feeling their love. And although he loved Eryn Lasgalen and its people, he could not deny the fact that it seemed a lonely place at times.

Eowyn released Legolas, her mood changing rapidly. She fixed her hair with the palm of her hand, and straightened her skirts where they had crumpled from sitting on the benches. Once again, she seemed a woman on a mission.

“Alright now, time to get you to your duty,” she said.

“My duty?” he wondered. As far as he knew, he had no duties except to attend the coronation of Aragorn Elessar, which wouldn’t be for another few days.

“Why yes, a meeting has been called, and you are expected to attend,” she answered matter-of-factly.

“I was not informed about any meeting. What is this about?”

Eowyn rolled her eyes, “Things are still a bit disheveled around here. Someone should have delivered a message to you yesterday evening. Aragorn has called all his chiefs and some other leaders. He wants to speak to them before he is crowned. You are included in this meeting. I thought that was where you were heading when I met you earlier.”

“I was just going to look for Aragorn. I have not spoken with him since we parted on our journey. But if there is an important counsel, I would not want to miss it.”

Eowyn clapped her hands together as she thought of something. “Oh, this is wonderful. Faramir will be there also. You will get to meet him. He’s been anxiously awaiting your arrival. I must warn you though, he has a deep fondness and curiosity for elven kind. No doubt, he will have many questions for you, especially knowing that you are a wood elf. He’s never met anyone from the Woodland realm before, and he knows your story, of course.”

“Well, I must admit that I am just as curious to meet him. I want to know who this man is that has swept my dear Eowyn off her feet.”

Eowyn blushed and smiled, “Just like old times. You always did look out for me.”

“From what I remember, you looked out for yourself most of the time,” he jested.

Eowyn nodded in agreement, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She sighed heavily, “I will miss being a shield maiden.”

“That you will always be in my eyes.”

* * *

Eowyn led Legolas to the King’s audience chamber, but she did not join the men. She kissed his cheek and nodded to Faramir, who had seen her in the entrance way. Then she left them to their meeting.

Eomer was there and came to Legolas’ side. “There you are. It took you long enough to get here, but I see that my sister escorted you. No doubt she held on to you as long as she could.”

“At least she didn’t put me to work like she used to do in Edoras,” Legolas chortled.

Eomer gave Legolas a firm pat on the back of his shoulder, and led him to the middle of the room. There were decorative rugs scattered about, depicting patterns of trees and stars. Stone columns lined both sides and torches were attached to each one, giving the room abundant light. The place had the smell of ancient stone and ash, probably due to the recent destruction of the lower levels of Minas Tirith. The scents from below seemed to waft upwards. Otherwise, this area had been untouched by the war, too high up for any of the enemy’s weapons to reach.

At the head of the room sat the King’s throne high up on a tall dais, with stairs that led to the top. A smaller chair sat at the bottom of the set of stairs. Above the throne hung a chandelier shaped like an oversized crown. A red runner cascaded down the steps, ending at the foot of the stairs and flowing to the side where the smaller chair sat. This was the Steward’s place, where he ruled in the stead of an invisible king. Soon, the throne would hold the new sovereign, King Elessar. Until then, the city was still under the rule of the Steward, Lord Faramir. For now, though, neither chair was occupied, forgotten for the moment while everyone made their acquaintances.

Aragorn approached Legolas and Eomer, a smile adorning his well-groomed face. Eomer bowed and Legolas followed his lead. Aragorn closed his eyes and shook his head.

“My friends, you need not show such ceremony. Do not let these fine robes fool you. I am still the same man you met on the open plains of the Riddermark.”

“And there is not a finer man among us who will lead our people towards our future,” Eomer commented.

“Hear, hear!” Someone else joined the conversation, and they turned to find Faramir agreeing with Eomer’s compliment. “I for one am honored to see the throne finally occupied, something I never thought would happen in my lifetime.”

Eomer was obviously glad to see Lord Faramir, and he greeted him with a firm handshake. “That makes two of us.” He turned to his friends, bringing Faramir before them. “You will know everyone here, but for our elven friend, Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen, King of the Woodland realm. Legolas… Lord Faramir, my future brother-in-law and current Steward of Gondor.”

“Temporary Steward,” Faramir corrected as he reached a hand out to Legolas. He smiled genuinely, “I feel like we have met already. Eomer and his sister speak quite highly of you. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Legolas.”

Legolas took the offered hand, but he was confused by Eomer’s introduction. He looked back at Eomer and spoke from the corner of his mouth, “So you know about him and Eowyn?”

“As of only minutes ago, yes. He spoke to me privately, and I gave him my well wishes,” Eomer answered.

Legolas smiled and looked to Faramir, “Well met Lord Faramir, but I would prefer that you refer to me by my given name only. No need of formalities, especially for the man who has agreed to marry the Lady Eowyn.”

“Agreed? You make it sound as though it were arranged,” Faramir laughed. “Of course I am only jesting. Lady Eowyn stole my heart from the moment I laid eyes upon her.”

“Glutton for punishment,” Eomer added from the corner of his mouth.

“Are you suggesting that your sister is difficult?” Faramir said, mocking disappointment.

Legolas liked Faramir already. The way he bantered with him and Eomer seemed very relaxed and familiar, and Legolas was reminded of the days spent with Eomer and Théodred. “As long as you know what you are getting yourself into, then you’ll have no one but yourself to blame, especially when the time comes for rearranging furniture or cleaning those high out of the way places.”

“Ah,” Faramir nodded, “I’ve already seen how she gives orders, and I’ll not be burdened by it. I’ve made sure that there will be plenty of help in our new home.”

“Smart man,” Aragorn said.

Everyone shared in a laugh. Then Faramir addressed Legolas again. “All kidding aside, it is very good to meet you, Legolas. Eowyn has had nothing but the best things to say about you. She thinks quite highly of you, and I know she is a good judge in character.”

“I think of her as a sister. We have practically grown up together,” Legolas responded and turned to Eomer. “We all have. Rohan is very dear to my heart, as well as its new king and your betrothed. I am very happy for you and Eowyn. May your days together be that of joy as you embark on your journey together.”

“Thank you, Legolas. It means a lot to me, and to Eowyn, that you approve of his joining,” Faramir said and bowed.

“Well, now that we’ve gotten introductions out of the way, shall we continue with this meeting?” Eomer said to Aragorn.

“Yes, of course. Gentlemen,” Aragorn said, gesturing to a door that led to another meeting chamber. Inside, there was a long wooden table with chairs lining each side. Everyone took a seat, and as the meeting began, Gimli rushed into the room.

“I apologize for my tardiness, but there were some complications with the construction of one of the fountains on the—” he interrupted himself as he noticed Legolas among the men at the table. “Well, if it isn’t my elf friend. Come to join the excitement I see.”

“Good to see you, Gimli,” Legolas nodded.

The meeting began, and Aragorn had many things to discuss with the different members of his court. His advisors and counselors were given their orders for the upcoming ceremony, and then were dismissed to carry out their charges. When it was only the few left, Aragorn took a more personal approach, as though these were favors he was asking of his friends, not directives.

With Eomer, it was agreed that there would be an ongoing alliance with Rohan, and any need of assistance, military or otherwise, would result in immediate attention. Gone were the days of stubbornness amongst the leaders of the two cities.

Gimli would have complete control over the rebuilding and expanding of masonry work, including but not limited to the addition of irrigation systems that would allow for gardens throughout Minas Tirith. He would also advise the men in charge of rebuilding Osgiliath, and send a group of Dwarves to test the infrastructures of the ruined city. If it had to do with stone, there was no one more knowledgeable than the Dwarves.

Faramir had already been informed of his new title as Prince of Ithilien and Chief Commander of King Elessar. His duty was to guard the eastern borders, as well as oversee the rebuilding of Osgiliath. But Aragorn asked another ‘favor’, as the future King liked to refer to it.

“Though the people look forward to seeing Osgiliath restored, they also wish to see the rebirth of Ithilien, whose gardens were either ruined by the enemy or were reclaimed by the wild. Since you are about to be married, I would like to see you settled in your new land, and I offer you a home in the hills of Ithilien. It is yours to do with as you please. You will be much closer to the lands you are to oversee.”

“Thank you, my lord, but it seems like a lot for one man to handle,” he turned to Gimli and added, “even with the help of the Dwarves. I was prepared to see to Osgiliath, but Ithilien is a different matter. I’m not sure my knowledge for trees, plants and flowers is that extensive.”

Aragorn smiled and continued, “Which is why I have asked Legolas to join this meeting. I understand the sea longing amongst the elves, but I also know that there are those who wish yet to stay in Middle-earth. I would ask you to gather those who might be interested in helping rebuild Ithilien, and send them to Gondor. Just as I trust the Dwarves with stone, I trust the elves with nature. Ithilien was once the crown jewel of Gondor, its gardens unmatched to any seen throughout the lands, and I would see it as such once again. Our people need a place of peace outside of the White City. Ithilien should be a place for the races to come together and live harmoniously, and it would not be the same without elves joined in the mix.”

Legolas was thrilled by the offer, and was about to volunteer himself, but he flinched as he remembered his duty as King of Eryn Lasgalen. “I am sure I can gather a small company to come to your aid immediately, but I don’t know if it will be enough. Eryn Lasgalen has not the occupancy it once had, when my father ruled the forest. Have you thought to ask Lothlórien or Rivendell? Surely they can spare more elves than I can.”

“I have and they have agreed to send those willing to take up new residence, but I could not leave Eryn Lasgalen out of the offer. Tell your people they can build their homes anywhere and in any way they see fit within Ithilien. The land to the north will belong to the elves. This will help Lord Faramir… one less task to worry about. Once they are settled, I will chose one of them to rule the north, to arrange patrols to protect the northern borders, and to see that the regrowth of the lands is successful. They will need to have an extensive military background of course, and Eryn Lasgalen seems the stronger realm when it comes to elven armies. I will, of course, take any of your recommendations to heart. I trust your judgment in this, as I know you have a considerable awareness for the military as well as the natural development of wasted lands. Though I have not seen it myself, I am told that Eryn Lasgalen is even more beautiful now than it was before the dark days.”

Legolas hadn’t given much thought to anyone outside of his forest home seeing who had recognized the changes within. Eryn Lasgalen seemed contained within its own borders. To think that word had reached as far as Gondor made him feel good, involved, invited, and proud of his begetting place. “I will certainly send word to my people, and gather as many who are willing to come to your aid.”

Finally, the meeting adjourned, but Legolas couldn’t stop thinking about the opportunity to send his people to Ithilien. Aragorn was gifting them with their own land, a place to come together with other races and improve the landscape. This was exactly the reason why he never felt the longing. He knew that as long as he lived in Middle-earth, he was a part of it, and he contributed to the future of mankind with every day he spent on these shores.

There was a sudden jolt within his heart as he realized he would not be a part of the new land in Ithilien. His place was within Eryn Lasgalen. He had, after all, spent his life doing everything possible to reclaim the forest. But along the way, he’d made friends and family that he couldn’t forget, and now he found it hard to leave those people who had given him his own opportunity. In doing so, Legolas claimed his father’s throne, established the Woodland realm once again, and gained the trust and love of the elves that made Eryn Lasgalen their home. Surely this was what he was meant to do, he tried to convince himself. Still, a part of him saddened at the thought of leaving Gondor, leaving his adopted family and his friends behind, and going back to the wondrous caverns of the Rhovanion. Legolas found his heart and his soul conflicted by these new thoughts.

And where did Calariel fall into all of this? He’d planned to marry her once they returned home, where she would rule by his side as his queen. She had already voiced her dislike for Minas Tirith, though she did so as nicely as possible. She knew how much he longed to be with those he’d known throughout his life. He wondered if she would feel more comfortable living in Ithilien, where she would be amongst the trees.

“Oh, what am I thinking?” he berated himself. “I already have a land to rule. I cannot abandon the throne, not after recently claiming it. Alas, it is just a bit of imagining on my part. Ithilien will belong to those who long for its diversity, and though it is something I am familiar with and something I long to revisit, it is not for me to wish upon anymore.”

As much as Legolas tried to convince himself of this, he couldn’t help to think of life in Ithilien, where he would be close to his friends. Where he could watch Eowyn and Faramir start their new life together. Where he would undoubtedly see Eomer from time to time as he came to see to business with Aragorn. Even the thought of working with Gimli on some of his projects gladdened his heart. And for the remainder of his time spent in Gondor, attending the coronation of King Elessar, and seeing his adopted sister complete her vows and take Lord Faramir as her husband, Legolas’ longing to stay grew stronger. So when the day came, and it was time for him and Calariel to journey back to Eryn Lasgalen, he did so with a heavy heart, for he knew he was leaving a piece of himself behind, and he would never sit comfortably beneath the green leaves of Eryn Lasgalen again.

It was during their travels back to the Rhovanion that Legolas remembered meeting with Celeborn upon the hill in the forest, and the message he relayed from Lady Galadriel. She had warned him about going to Gondor. He thought it was for a completely different reason, but now he realized what it was. He had discovered his true meaning, not to become a king and right the wrongs done to his father and his home, but to be a missionary for multiformity. Ithilien could give him this opportunity, but he’d chosen his path when he took up his father’s berry crown.

“And why should I be feeling this way?” he asked himself as he gathered wood for the fire. Calariel was waiting at their campsite where they’d stopped for the evening. She had hunted for their meal and had charged Legolas with making the fire in which to cook their food. The company they were returning with was half of what they had when they left for Gondor. These were the first among the new elves of Ithilien, remaining in Gondor to begin the renewal of that land. Legolas could not deny the jealousy in his heart.

“Yet, I am feeling this way,” he concluded. “I shouldn’t. I have everything I’ve ever wanted, including a woman to love, who loves me. Perhaps I’m being selfish. And what would my father and mother think of me? No, I have a duty now. I must put aside these longings and continue in my father’s place. The Rhovanion is my home and Eryn Lasgalen is my land. It is what I’ve worked for, and to think of anything else would be do dishonor my father and his memory. Besides, who else would rule if it weren’t me? This is where I belong now, and I have to realize that my life has changed. I cannot go back, for my upbringing was only ever meant to be temporary.” Still, as much as he wished to believe this, Legolas would never dampen the loneliness left in the bottom of his heart. Galadriel’s prediction had indeed come true.


	44. How Heavy Is The Crown

He stood before the throne where his father once sat, wondering if he too had ever had reservations about the calling to take up this seat. Legolas was conflicted lately, still very much missing his former life. Why he let it affect him to the point of distraction was beyond his understanding, but ever since returning from Gondor, Legolas second guessed himself.

“Are you alright?” Calariel said. She’d come into the throne room, and Legolas had not even noticed.

He turned, adorning a forced smile, and kissed her cheek. “Everything is fine. Why do you ask?”

“You have not been yourself lately. You seem distant. Are you nervous about the ceremony or the fact that my father is coming along with Lord Celeborn?”

They had been home in Eryn Lasgalen for two weeks now. As soon as word reached Lothlórien, Celeborn sent a message stating his arrival, in which he would finally perform the coronation. In two days, Legolas would take up the throne and officially become King of Eryn Lasgalen.

He waved a hand as if to dispel her curiosity. “I’ll admit, the thought of your father coming is a bit unsettling. Our last meeting was anything but cordial.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “He has no say in our future. You can ask for my hand, and he can refuse, but you and I know he’ll not stop us,” she said seductively.

“And to think we were going to follow tradition,” he responded, kissing her.

“A year was just too long to wait,” she purred, pushing her body flush against his. “All the more reason to marry me sooner… since you deflowered me.”

“Let’s not forget who initiated it,” he reminded her.

“You could have refused my advances,” she said playfully.

Legolas regarded her, one brow raised in question. “Could I? The most beautiful elleth in Middle-earth pinning me against my own door, writhing uncontrollably against my person, and begging me to take her to my bed, and you thought I could have refused?”

Calariel laughed against his neck, her warm breath doing wonders to his libido. “We could try again if you think I have wounded your pride.”

“I’ll never refuse you, my love,” he answered as his mouth assailed upon hers.

The heated moment cooled quickly when the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted them. Legolas did not release her from his hold, and gave the messenger an aggravated glare. “What is it?” he demanded.

“Sorry to interrupt, my lord, but I thought you would want to know that Lord Celeborn and his company have arrived,” said the messenger.

“Already?” Calariel said before Legolas could.

“A surprise to us all, my lady,” the messenger replied cautiously. “Shall I send him to your audience chamber?”

Legolas sighed heavily, “That will be fine, thank you.”

The messenger bowed and left immediately.

Legolas released Calariel, his somberness returning again. “I wonder if there will ever be a day when I am glad to see my uncle.”

Calariel just smiled lovingly and kissed his forehead, “Just remember why he is here, and soon he will not be a burden. Neither will my father.”

“Ai, another ravine to cross,” he complained, “though I think I would rather meet with your father again than hold counsel with Celeborn.”

“I’d rather we weren’t interrupted just now,” she whispered, smiled deviously, and left Legolas to prepare himself for his meeting.

He watched her float out of the room and from his vision. Then he silently thanked the Valar for sending him such a strong and beautiful elleth. Whatever happened, he would never doubt the love they had for each other.

* * *

There was light pooling from the bottom of his chamber door. Legolas rolled his shoulders and cracked the vertebrae in his neck as he prepared to meet the elf lord within the room. It never seemed to get any easier, these required encounters with Lord Celeborn. He took the door handle in his hand, breathed deep and opened it. To his surprise, it was not only Celeborn he found in his office, but Túrdir as well.

Legolas hadn’t expected to find them both. He thought he was meeting with Celeborn, alone. This was not the case, and the elf lord seemed arrogantly happy by Legolas’ surprise.

“Legolas, you will remember Túrdir, I suspect,” Celeborn began.

“Quite well,” Legolas answered, and he bowed respectfully to Calariel’s father. “We are honored to have you here.”

“Where is my daughter?” Túrdir asked sternly.

“She is here, of course, but we were not expecting to see you right away. Shall I send for her?” Legolas asked.

Túrdir looked Legolas over carefully, “No, it can wait.”

Legolas nodded and turned to Lord Celeborn. “I hope you find everything to your liking, my lord.”

“Very much so. I see a lot has been accomplished since I last visited. Your people have done a remarkable job.”

“Yes, they have. Calariel has been a major contributor in the regrowth of the forest,” Legolas informed, hoping to put Túrdir’s mind at ease. “She has seen to most of it herself, and recruited a loyal following.”

“I understand that you and Calariel have returned recently from Gondor,” Túrdir said.

“Yes. We were both privileged to have witnessed the coronation of King Elessar, as well as the marriage of Lady Eowyn of Rohan to Lord Faramir of Gondor,” Legolas said.

Celeborn studied Legolas after his response, but when he did not find what he sought, he feigned a smile. “We will discuss your visit in a little while, but first I will give you and Túrdir some time alone to work out your differences.”

Not exactly what Legolas had in mind, but there was no way out of it, and he’d been wanting to speak with Túrdir for months now. “That will be most agreeable.”

Celeborn bowed to Túrdir, but only nodded to Legolas. “I’ll show myself around your home and make my way to the kitchens. It has been a long journey.” With that, he left.

Legolas had never been so nervous before. Túrdir was still very intimidating to look at. His size alone made Legolas feel like an elfling again. He would never have felt this way if it weren’t for the fact that this was the father of his betrothed, and that he and Calariel chose not to follow tradition. Túrdir was very traditional. This would be a difficult discussion.

In an attempt to settle this unsettling moment, Legolas offered Túrdir a glass of wine, and then poured one for himself. If he could have, he would have gulped the entire glass down at one time. Instead, he sipped politely, allowing the richness of the wine to purl through his insides. It warmed him instantly, and he hoped it had the same calming effect on Túrdir.

At least the elder elf took a seat and made himself comfortable before they started their conversation. Legolas did the same and opened the line of communication. “Calariel has been anxiously awaiting your arrival. She is very proud of her accomplishments, as am I, and she is eager to show you all that she has achieved.”

“I am honestly taken by surprise by her interest in horticulture. It wasn’t something she ever shared with me growing up. Calariel’s main interest was always with the army,” Túrdir said, sipping slowly from his glass. “And now her interest has expanded to you.”

Legolas laughed nervously, “Yes, well… the feeling is mutual. I admire her for her strengths and for her intelligence. She has helped me through some of my most difficult times.” He reached deep within his soul and rounded up his courage. “Which is why I have found myself to have fallen in love with your daughter.”

“I have suspected as much, for she expressed her feelings for you when last we met,” Túrdir admitted. He shifted in his chair and set his empty glass on a nearby table. “I will admit, Legolas, I was not very fond of you when I found out this news, and I think you know why.”

“No matter what you think, sir, it will not change my feelings for Calariel,” Legolas stated.

Túrdir watched Legolas with a stern eye. “You are more like your mother than you probably know. She gave the same argument to her brother over the matter of Thranduil. Nothing Celeborn could say would have changed her mind.”

“I can understand her determination, for I feel the same way about your daughter. The difference is, sir that I come to you pleadingly, not to ask your permission, but to ask for your approval of Calariel’s choice, as well as mine, to marry.” Legolas finished speaking, and stood still as stone as he waited for Túrdir to respond.

“I see,” Túrdir said, eyes narrowed on the young prince. “You leave me little choice in the matter.”

“Calariel and I will marry. That is not the question. But knowing what my mother must have gone through, being shunned by her family for her choices, I would not like to see Calariel have to suffer the same kind of grief. And so I ask that you give her your well wishes, and keep communication open between you both, whether you accept me into your family or not.”

Túrdir did not answer right away. Legolas had put him on the spot. The older elf stood from his chair, and Legolas did the same. There would be no subservience between them, not like the kind that Celeborn constantly pushed on Legolas. Both ellyn loved Calariel and wanted what was best for her.

“Perhaps if Thranduil had approached Celeborn in such a manner, there would have been no rift between them,” Túrdir finally said.

Legolas knew the truth about that situation. Thranduil had made multiple attempts to speak with the brother of the woman he loved and wanted to marry, but he was turned away each time. However, Legolas was not going to say this aloud. Instead, he relaxed his stance and let his shoulders fall a bit. “I am not my father, sir. The truth is, I am the son of an elvish King, but also of the Woodsmen and of the Rohirrim. I have learned my lessons from many great men, who I consider to be my family. Whether they live or have died, I hear their words of advice whispered in my ear whenever I have a choice to make. I am proud and honored to have been a part of their lives. Now, I hope that you, through Calariel, will be a part of it too. I respect you, sir, and I think you too will have something to teach me. But with or without your assent, I love your daughter with my all my soul. She will be my wife, and I her devoted husband, but we will be much more content knowing that we have your blessing.”

Túrdir huffed, but Legolas could have sworn it was a muffled laugh. If so, the prince did not see the humor in the situation. Whatever it was, Túrdir showed no sign of amusement. “Not much of an ultimatum is it?”

“I just want Calariel to be happy, sir. Nothing more,” Legolas responded.

“Then we agree on something,” Túrdir said as he turned to the door. Obviously, the conversation was at its end. The older elf was leaving the room, but Legolas still had no answer from him.

“Sir?” he asked lightly, hoping Túrdir would tell him one way or the other of his feelings on the whole subject.

“I have heard all that you have had to say. Now I would like to speak to my daughter.”

Legolas nodded, “Very well. My assistant will show you to our quarters.”

Túrdir looked over his shoulder at the mention of the quarters being referred to as ‘our’, but he said nothing. Then he was on his way.

* * *

Legolas caught up to Lord Celeborn, who had finished satisfying his hunger, and was now settling in to his guest room. Feeling his confidence renewed, he knew it was time to meet with his uncle. He knocked and Celeborn called him in.

“Through already?” Celeborn asked. “I thought for sure that Túrdir would have you tied up for the remainder of the day.”

“I said what needed to be said, and now he seeks Calariel. They deserve some time for themselves,” Legolas said.

“I suppose you want to know about the official crowning,” Celeborn inquired.

“I want to know why you had me wait until now. The throne is rightfully mine anyhow.”

“That it is, but the duty of the crowning falls upon me,” Celeborn said smoothly. “So tell me, Legolas, what did you find in Gondor?”

Legolas felt uncomfortable with the sudden question. “I found my friends and those who I consider family. I found closure for those I have lost. And I have seen the Fourth Age pass into the hands of mankind. Through it all, I have come to realize that I am not ready now, nor will I be ready anytime soon, to begin the process of the longing. I love Middle-earth, and look forward to seeing its advancement.”

Celeborn considered him for a moment, waiting for Legolas to put up some kind of argument, but he didn’t. Still, he sensed something different, some definite change in the young prince. “That is all well and good, but what did you really find? What did you find within yourself?”

“I have just told you,” said Legolas, annoyed with his uncle’s questioning.

Celeborn’s countenance changed to an arrogant smile, “I see. Very good. Then you are ready to take your rightful place on the throne?”

“Yes,” Legolas answered quickly, head held high.

“And you are ready to accept your role as King of Eryn Lasgalen?”

“I am.”

Celeborn looked Legolas squarely in the eyes as he asked for this last bit of confirmation.

“No doubts? No regrets?”

Legolas answered confidently, “None.”

Lord Celeborn stared deep into Legolas’ soul through his blue eyes, as though he might have seen something different from the prince’s answer. Legolas found it difficult to remain unmoving, wishing terribly to look away from the ancient elf. And just when he thought he would break the connection, Celeborn released him and ended his questioning.

“Very well. Tomorrow we shall perform the ceremony, and you will officially become King.” Celeborn bowed his head and slowly rose. “Congratulations Laiqalassë Thranduilion, son of my beloved sister.”

“Thank you,” Legolas answered courteously, noticing that the elf lord still would not refer to him as closer kin than through his sister. He came to the conclusion that Celeborn would only ever see him as his sister’s child, not Thranduil’s son, and not even nephew. He supposed he would just have to accept this fact and be glad they did not break into a heated argument. Oh, but the day was still fairly new, he reminded himself with twisted humor.

* * *

The grand throne room was filled with people standing shoulder to shoulder, all of them there to see the crowning of the new King of Eryn Lasgalen. Legolas stood to the side of the dais, waiting for Celeborn to call him up. Meanwhile, counselors were officially appointed, those who Legolas chose himself. Army captains were introduced, as well as master barterers who would take over the business of trade for Eryn Lasgalen. Gratitude was expressed to Calariel for all she had done with the regrowth. She was asked to continue her work and contribution. She glanced at Legolas, knowing it was he who had suggested it. He smiled, nodded, and winked, which made Calariel blush becomingly.

Everything was moving along smoothly, and the people of Eryn Lasgalen could not be happier about all the newly appointed people. From somewhere in the very back of the room, came a shout. “Get on with it then. Where is our new king?”

The elves around the caller laughed, and a few others agreed verbally with his comment. Celeborn smiled to the crowd and bowed to the anonymous heckler. “Indeed you are right. You have all waited long enough. Eryn Lasgalen has been kingless for many years, and the throne shall not sit cold any longer.” The elf lord turned to Haldir, who was honored to have been asked to be a part of the ceremony. “Bring me the circlet,” Celeborn said. Then he nodded to Legolas, his cue to approach the center of the dais.

Haldir retrieved the mithril circlet from a pedestal where it sat, turned and waited for Legolas to come forward. Celeborn stood next to the March warden, and all the crowd waited silently.

Legolas hesitated for what seemed like years, though it was only a brief moment. But during that small expanse of time, a lifetime of memories flashed before his eyes. This time, though, the memories were of all the joyous times he’d experienced. He heard the voice of his mother sweetly singing while she held him in her loving arms. He felt his father’s arms surround him like he used to do when he came home from a mission. ‘You are a gift to all people,’ his father had told him. Later, Elhadron had told him something similar, after seeing how quickly Legolas had earned the love of Folvar and Sefa, and the friendship of the Woodsmen community.

Legolas remembered the lessons Grimbeorn had taught him, and the respect he’d earned from the skin changer. But most of all, he had learned how to defend those he cared about, even if it meant sacrificing his own live.

The Prince thought back to meeting Théoden for the first time, expecting to find him overpowering and all mighty, but soon learned that he was caring and fair, and he wanted the same for Legolas as he wanted for his own son. And then there were all the good times spent with Eomer, Eowyn, and Théodred, and the bond they had developed, something that was still true to this day.

Then, Legolas remembered meeting Gimli, finding him to be a nuisance, disliking him and his way of thinking, only to learn that they were alike in more ways that either one could have imagined. It still baffled Legolas to think that an elf and a dwarf could be such good friends, would fight side by side, and did many times.

All of these bonds that he’d made, they were all important pieces in his life. They were all a part of him, a part of what made Legolas who he was, who his is today, on this very important day. It saddened him that none of them were there to share his special day, but they had other engagements. They were involved in shaping the future, while Legolas was continuing a legend. And in the small expanse of time, Legolas realized that he needed to be a part of their lives still, to renew those old memories and make new ones. A gift to all the people, his father had said. It made sense and explained how easily he adopted to different communities. In Ithilien, he could be this elf, the one he had grown to be. In Eryn Lasgalen, he would be isolated. And though he loved and respected the elves who came here and made this place their new home, Legolas knew he could not live as fully as he needed to. Galadriel had warned him about going to Gondor, and she was right. He would have a restless heart as long as he was King of the Greenwood.

Legolas stood before Celeborn, not hearing his words as he performed the crowning, but instead, he heard his heart aching to be far from here, to be in Ithilien where he knew without a doubt he could be of better service to Mankind and to the people of Middle-earth.

Celeborn had said something, and was waiting for Legolas’ response, but the prince hadn’t heard him. Instead, he looked out over the crowd of elves packed into the throne room. Celeborn spoke again, a muffled noise to Legolas’ ears.

“Legolas,” Celeborn said again. “Legolas, did you hear me?”

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Legolas asked in confusion. He gazed around the room until he saw Calariel standing off to the side of the dais, and suddenly he knew what he must do.

Celeborn cleared his throat, smiled to the audience and asked again. “Laiqalassë Thranduilion, do you accept the responsibilities and duties as they have been given to you, to take up your father’s crown, and honor the title you are about to be given as King of Eryn Lasgalen?”

Legolas paused as he met Calariel’s eyes, asking for permission through their silent thoughts. As though she had understood what he was about to do, she smiled, closed her eyes and nodded. Then Legolas turned his attention to Celeborn and gave his answer.

“I do not accept any of the things offered to me.”

The audience gasped in unison. Celeborn’s eyes blazed with anger. Haldir lifted his hand to his mouth, but he was clearly smiling. His brothers, Rúmil and Orophin, rushed onto the dais, ready to give commands to nearby soldiers if the crowd suddenly became unruly. Everyone was too shocked to move or speak, and the room remained silent and still as they waited to hear more.

Celeborn leaned into Legolas’ ear. “What are you doing?” he demanded in a violent whisper.

“I’m doing what is right, Uncle,” Legolas responded, referring to Celeborn as he should.

“You play us for fools?” Celeborn said angrily. “You are disrespecting every elf here. Why, you ungrateful… you’re no different than Thranduil, wreaking havoc and thinking only of yourself,” he spat.

Celeborn was clearly upset and enraged, but Legolas kept his calm and stepped away from Celeborn. Haldir moved to the elf lord’s side, whispered something and Celeborn stopped ranting for the moment. Legolas moved to the front of the dais, his long green and gold robes trailing behind him. His gilded hair laid long and straight down his back, with a few tendrils spilling forward over his shoulders. He looked every part a king, which was why the people of Eryn Lasgalen were dumbfounded by his refusal.

“I am very sorry to disappoint you today,” Legolas said to the crowd. “I have no one but myself to blame for my rash decision. I should have seen it earlier, but I was shutting out the insistent pang in my heart. What you all have done here, in Eryn Lasgalen, has been nothing short of amazing. Ever since I was an elfling, and escaped the burning, I have sworn to restore my home. Well, none of this could have happened without all of your help, your sacrifice, and your loyalty, and because of this, you should have a leader that is just as committed. I’m afraid, though I would do my duty as it should be done, my heart would not hold to this allegiance. Deep within my soul, I feel that I have been called to serve Middle-earth in another way. Because of this longing, this never ending pull of my will, I truly believe my duty lies within Ithilien, at the heart of the future, a place where all the free people can come together and live harmoniously.

I cannot forget my past, or those who influenced me as I’ve grown and matured. And though I love Eryn Lasgalen as a child loves a parent, it will not be enough for my now restless heart. For too long, people have lived separately, afraid to branch out from their realms. Men, Elves, Dwarves, we have all done this. My father was a great example of this. But we cannot close ourselves off from each other. It did not work in the past, as you have all seen. Evil went unchecked and grew into a monstrosity that almost abolished life as we each know it. We cannot shut ourselves in and hope the darkness passes us by, only to be a burden to the next community. The recent war has taught us that in order to move forward we must come together for a common cause. We have done that, and it ended the dark days, but now there is an opportunity to set the path for the future of Middle-earth... Mankind. And if I can contribute to this while I still dwell upon these lands, then that is what I know in my heart I must do.”

Everyone was stunned into silence. Even Celeborn had no argument. No one questioned Legolas’ decision. No one made a sound for what seemed a very long time. Then, an elleth stepped forward, and asked the one thing that must have been on everyone’s minds.

“If you will not be our king, then who shall lead the Woodland realm?”

Legolas bowed to the young elleth, and looked out over the crowd. “I have given this much thought, and though I have not discussed it with anyone, there is but one choice in my mind. She has taken charge and made Eryn Lasgalen what it is today. Without her passion, none of this would have happened as quickly as it did.” Legolas held his hand out to Calariel, who stood just off the dais. She shook her head in refusal, but Legolas smiled and curled a finger, calling her forward. Those elves standing closest to her gave her a push, and Calariel joined Legolas on the dais. She smiled nervously around the room, picking out the confused faces staring back at her.

“Legolas, what are you up to?” she asked from the corner of her mouth.

Legolas faced her, and then took her chin in his fingers to gain her full attention. She forgot about the curious crowd waiting to see her reaction, and focused on Legolas. Suddenly, it was just the two of them standing in front of the throne.

“You cannot ask this of me,” she said worriedly.

“I know we have not discussed it, and I apologize for not sharing my thoughts, but it just came to me as I was about to make my announcement. Calariel, no one here understands more than you do, what it means to have the Greenwood back in control of our people.”

As Legolas spoke, Calariel shook her head, unable to accept his reasoning. “No, Legolas, I could never take this position. I am just one elf, a single soldier in a sea of many.”

“I can say the same,” he smiled, his eyes bright and sparkling.

“But you are born of royal blood. You were meant to take up your father’s seat,” she argued.

“You are the daughter of a Captain of the Galadhrim army. Leadership is bred into your blood also. You are perfect for this position, to rule the people of Eryn Lasgalen.”

“But… what about us?” she asked, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. “I thought you loved me. I thought you wanted to marry me. Does this mean nothing to you anymore?”

Legolas tilted her face and lightly kissed her lips. “Your love means everything to me. Like I told your father, all I want is to see you happy. But one thing bothered me. I saw it within your eyes, Calariel. You did not seem very content being in Gondor. It was too much stone, too confining, and not rustic enough. You love the forest and the simple, unsophisticated lifestyle of the wood elves. Even here in Eryn Lasgalen, you’ll experience the things you craved most, the things you could not find in Lothlórien. This is why I say it is perfect for you. And as far as our love, we will always have that. We will have forever someday, when the sea calls us at last. Then, I shall marry you and my life will finally be complete.”

Despite his effort to cajole her, Calariel resisted. “And so you have made all these decisions without my consent. What makes you think I will say yes? If I shall refuse your offer, what will you do then?” she said, sadness turning into ire.

“Calariel, please, just think about it a moment before you do anything rash.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Rash? Who exactly do you think is being rash at the moment? I don’t even know how you can remain so calm, standing there with a smile on your face, so sure of yourself and—”

“I’ll do it,” someone said from behind the arguing couple. “I’ll manage the throne in your absence, but I’ll not take a title above that of a steward.”

Legolas and Calariel stopped talking, and turned to find Rúmil standing tall and proud. The youngest of the Lórien brothers seemed nervous, but he had obviously found his voice and offered his services again. “If you think I would make a good match, then I’ll accept any offer you give me, my lord.”

Calariel put a hand on his arm. “Rúmil, you can’t sacrifice your—”

“I can and I have, my lady,” Rúmil interrupted. “I am a soldier, and lucky that my brother is the highest ranking warden of the Galadhrim army. I have proudly served my realm and my people, but I can honestly say that my heart has never longed for this life.” Rúmil glanced at his brothers, Haldir and Orophin, as they listened to his confession. “I am sorry, my brothers, but soldiering has never been as fulfilling for me as it has been for you. I did it to please our father, to make both of you proud of me. And though I have done my duty to its fullest, like Legolas, I have felt a different calling. The role of Chamberlain suits me just fine, if Legolas is willing to take a risk. And besides, these two,” said Rúmil, gesturing to Legolas and Calariel, “they should not be separated. They are soul mates, their fates bound to one another. They should marry as they have planned, and live happily together in Ithilien.”

One of the brothers, Orophin, stepped forward. “Rúmil, you cannot do this. You cannot give up your ranking just to become a courtier of the council of Eryn Lasgalen.”

Rúmil gently grasped his middle brother’s shoulder. “I want this, Brother. I feel secure with my choice, if Legolas accepts my offer.”

“I accept it whole heartedly, Rúmil. You have been beside me through all of these trials. We have fought together, saved each other’s heads,” Legolas laughed. “You understand war as well as the importance of a strong council. I know without a doubt that I leave Eryn Lasgalen in good hands under your rule.”

Legolas looked out over his audience, “Do I have the approval of the people about this decision, for it concerns you also?”

The elves were confused by this question. They had never been asked to participate in a decision like this before. Neighbor turned to neighbor, heads nodded, and a low mumble of discussion broke out. Finally, one brave enough to speak for them all waved his arms to gain Legolas’ attention. “We agree with the motion to appoint Rúmil of Lothlórien as Chamberlain of Eryn Lasgalen.”

A few other’s shouted their approval as well, and all the elves began to relax and enjoy their involvement.

“Then it is settled. Rúmil you are now appointed to the throne in my stead as I commit myself to the rebuilding of Ithilien. May the Valar guide you wisely,” Legolas said and bowed.

Rúmil bowed and thanked Legolas. Then Haldir came from behind the dais and clasped arms with his youngest brother. “You make us all very proud, and I know father would have said as much.”

The elves in the throne room clapped and sang their praises, satisfied with the choice. Rúmil, Haldir and Orophin gathered together off to the side, congratulating the youngest of the brothers Lórien. On the other side of the dais, Celeborn still seemed befuddled, though he hid his emotions well. He placed the mithril circlet back on the pedestal, some part of him saddened by the fact that no king would be crowned this day, or any day soon to come.

Legolas turned to Calariel, who was still at his side, took her hands in his and smiled. “Calariel, I know you would rather remain here in the forest, but you know I must go. I want nothing more than to have you by my side, but I will not see you unhappy, so if you choose to stay in Eryn Lasgalen, I will understand.”

Calariel raised a cynical brow and shook her head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, but I have one request that you must fulfill before I come with you to Ithilien.”

“And how might I meet your demands?” Legolas asked playfully.

“We must marry first.”

“I’ve already planned on that.”

“I don’t mean a week or a month from now,” Calariel insisted. “Marry me now while we have everyone gathered here.”

Legolas looked around, “Now? But this is not tradition, my lady.”

Calariel could not help but laugh. “Well, you did call me rash, did you not? And what better example than to make you marry me right here and now.”

Legolas cupped her face and looked longingly into her eyes. “Your demands are not much of a challenge, for I would marry you anywhere, anytime.” He kissed her then, slowly and thoroughly, and then releasing her, turned to Rúmil. “Chamberlain, your first order of business awaits your attention.”

Everyone on the dais stopped speaking and looked to the embracing couple. Rúmil approached, “And what might that be, my lord?”

“Legolas and I wish to marry,” Calariel said, speaking for her beloved.

“Of course, my lady. I will get right on it just as soon as I—”

“Now, Rúmil,” Legolas said. “The Lady Calariel would like to marry now.”

“Now?” Rúmil cried in surprise, “But what about a proper betrothal period, and the rings? You have no rings.”

Calariel could see how this would pose a problem, but she did not much care at the moment. Instead, she looked to Legolas for the answer. “How would such a ceremony be performed in Rohan?”

Legolas thought a moment, “Well, instead of exchanging rings, rope is used to tie the hands of the couple while they share their vows.”

Calariel took the golden silk ribbon from her hair, releasing her long dark waves, and handed it to Legolas. “Will this do?”

He smiled at her way of thinking. “It will do just fine.”

“What else then?” she asked.

“Well, the parents of the bride and groom give their approval.”

“Oh,” she replied, almost disappointed. Legolas had told her of the meeting with her father, and she had spoken to Túrdir soon after, but he still hadn’t given consent. He’d only told her to follow her heart, and do what she thought she must. Now, Calariel glanced around the room until she spotted Túrdir standing close to the steps of the dais. She gave her father a look that said she would go no further without his blessing. Túrdir visually sighed, but then he smiled and nodded. It was not much, but it meant the world to Calariel.

Legolas watched the unspoken words between father and daughter. Then he bowed to Túrdir, showing his respect and gratitude for the older elf. Standing up straight again, Legolas looked to the top of the cavern and whispered, “I know you see this, and I feel your consent for our happiness. Let this marriage help heal the hurts done to you, Thranduil and Almárëa, who loved each other eternally.”

Meanwhile, Rúmil, seeing that this ceremony was going to happen no matter what anyone thought, had been speaking to Lord Celeborn. The elf lord approached the couple and took the silk ribbon from Legolas. “If you insist on marrying in Rohirric tradition, then it will be done properly.”

Surprised by this, Legolas asked, “You know of their wedding ceremonies?”

Celeborn half smiled, “I know more than you think I know, young Prince.” He put emphasis on the title as a reminder that Legolas was still just that. “Now, join your right hands together and then your left so that your wrists cross over each other. Good.” Celeborn proceeded to wrap the silk ribbon around their wrists and hands. When he was satisfied, he looked to the couple. “Will you be saying the vows in Rohirric or elvish?”

“Quenya,” Legolas answered for them, surprising Calariel.

“Not in Sindarin?” she asked.

“I’ll pledge my life to you in my mother’s language,” he said, catching a brief flash of consent from Celeborn’s eyes.

“Calariel, I love you for always. I will cherish you for eternity. I give you my heart, but you already have my soul. That has been yours since I first beheld you. The Valar have given me a most precious gift, and may Béma bless this bond for life everlasting.”

“You are the gift, Legolas, to me and to all who shall know of your kindness, your loyalty, your unending strength, and your ability to mend hearts and minds. You have my soul for as long as time shall last, and my love for you will know no end.”

Celeborn laid his hands over those of the couple. “May the Valar bless this union. May Béma give them the strength to endure now and for eternity.” He raised their bound hands and made them turn to the crowd. “I give to you Prince Legolas and Princess Calariel of Eryn Lasgalen, soon to be Lord and Lady of Ithilien.”

The crowd roared joyously as the newly bound couple kissed before their witnesses. Everyone who had joined them on the dais clapped and smiled as they watched Legolas and Calariel express their devout love for each other. Celeborn untied the ribbon from their hands, but the couple never let go of each other.

Finally, Legolas released his wife and caught Celeborn by the arm before he disappeared from the stage. “A moment please, Lord Celeborn.”

Celeborn halted and turned to Legolas, who smiled genuinely. “I do honestly apologize for not taking the crown today. I’m sure it must look like I have slighted you again, and I did not mean for that to happen.”

“No, Legolas, you followed your heart, and it has led you back to your people… your true people. Eryn Lasgalen is here waiting for you whenever you decide to take up the throne. In the meantime, it is in good hands.”

Legolas was shocked by Celeborn’s answer. He’d never known the elf lord to give in so easily. “That’s it then? You give me no quarrel? Instead you agree and send me on my way?”

Celeborn cupped his hands together and tilted his head to the side as he regarded Legolas. “I argued with your mother, and you know what good that did. I never saw her again, and that is something I will always regret. I could stand here and make a similar case in your situation, but I have learned from the past that it will not change matters. I will not try to change your mind. I will not stop you.” He paused and laughed quietly. “Galadriel knew better than any of us that her warning to you would go unheeded. She knew you would not take up the crown. I had hoped she was mistaken… fool that I was.”

“And so, you know why I must go?” Legolas asked, yet it was spoken more as a statement.

“I know that we are a stubborn lot,” Celeborn smiled genuinely. Legolas seemed surprised by the comparison. “We are of the same blood, and your mother too. Maybe the most obstinate of us all. So it does not matter why you are leaving, only that you are, and that I have not hindered you.”

“A second chance,” Legolas whispered, his head bowed in thought. “A chance to heal the regret in your heart.”

“Perhaps, young Prince Legolas,” Celeborn responded distantly as he turned and descended the steps of the dais.


	45. A Home The Heart Will Never Forget

And so, Legolas and Calariel eventually made their way to Ithilien, and settled in the Northern region. There they met other elves, some from Lothlórien and some from Rivendell. They dedicated themselves to making the inhabitable parts habitable, and keeping the wild places tamed. Soon, housing developed for men and elves. Even some of Gimli’s folk made Ithilien their home while they helped with the building of fountains and running water. They invented unique contraptions to redirect underground streams to the villages so that water was always at hand.

Life flourished in Ithilien, and a city quickly took shape, rising up like a crocus flower springing through the late winter snow. It was a wondrous place, with beautiful gardens and a very lavish landscape. There were forests and mountains, waterfalls and bubbling streams. The city itself was a bustling with business. Shops popped up along the cobblestone streets. Venders set up their carts in the courtyard, selling their homemade wares and tasty treats. It was very peaceful, and no surprise that so many people flocked to the newly developed city.

Legolas was never happier. He visited Eowyn and Faramir regularly, and was named uncle to their son, Elboron. Calariel spent time with Eowyn, familiarizing herself with the customs of humans, and teaching them about the ways of the elves. Eowyn continually asked when she and Legolas would have a child, a playmate for little Elboron. Calariel told her that the time was not right, but eventually they would have an elfling to call their own.

In the meantime, back in Rohan, Eomer was preparing to marry Lady Lothíriel, daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Legolas had been with Eomer at the exact moment he met her. They had been in a tavern in Gondor when she walked in with her brothers. Before they left the tavern, Legolas had encouraged Eomer to speak with her, after watching the two make eye contact across the room all night. Now, to think they were about to marry. Eomer would have his queen, a long awaited and well deserved moment.

Legolas and Calariel had not wasted a moment after receiving the invitation, and along with Eowyn and Faramir, traveled to Rohan for the wedding. Calariel had never been so excited. She would finally get to see the place where Legolas grew up, where most of his influence came from. During their stay and leading up to the wedding, Legolas showed her all of his most memorable and special places. There was the tavern where he, Eomer and Théodred used to frequent, and the stables where Legolas witnessed the birth of his trusted steed, Arod. He showed her the armory and the training grounds where he learned to master his long knives and bow. He even took her to the secret meeting tree, but found the loose boards had been repaired. They would have to go outside of the protective walls to reach the tree now.

The day before the wedding, Legolas and Calariel were sitting outside on the veranda, enjoying the scenery around them. The fields were splashed with color from the wild flowers in bloom. They scented the air, as well as fresh hay and something delicious roasting in the nearby kitchens. Larks called to each other in the distant meadow, their voices carrying across the open plains, singing a sweet tune that was most pleasant to the ears.

Calariel laid her hand upon his, and Legolas folded his fingers into hers. She looked ahead, the light breeze of the day pushing her hair against the side of her face. “I have been mistaken all these years.”

“About what,” he asked.

“About Rohan. It is nothing like I expected it to be. The land and the people are much different than I thought. This is truly a beautiful place, Legolas, and you are lucky to be able to call it home.”

“Well, it was only ever meant to be a temporary refuge,” he said a little sadly.

“I don’t think so,” she answered. “It is more than that. Do not fool yourself. You are a part of this place, and it will always be a part of you. Do you miss it much?”

He stared out over the openness. “I do,” he whispered. It was true. Though he had set out to free Mirkwood, and eventually settled in Ithilien, he still missed the days of his youth, and the freedom that came with it. That was what Rohan represented. “But I look forward to seeing how this young nation will develop in the new age.”

“I hope it never loses its charm,” Calariel admitted. “I am reminded of Eryn Lasgalen in a way. Not the scenery or the city, of course, but the people and their devoutness. They live and breathe and fight as one entity, much like the wood elves of days long gone. Strong were their armies. Faithful was their King. Loyal were their people. Everyone had a part to play. The new community has adopted the same way of life.” As she talked of Eryn Lasgalen, the old and the new, her eyes lit up with pride.

“You miss our wooded home, don’t you?” he asked. There was a tinge of regret in his question.

Calariel heard it too, and smiled reassuringly. “I miss Eryn Lasgalen as you miss Rohan.”

“We could go back,” he said.

“Could you come back here… permanently?”

Legolas shook his head, knowing what she meant. “No. I suppose you’re right, but I just want to make sure you are happy.”

“I am happy, Legolas,” she said and kissed him. Then she rested her forehead against his. “As long as I am with you.”

Just then, Eomer exited through the grand wooden doors of Meduseld. Calariel sat upright and smiled at the Rohan King. Eomer nodded, but seemed hesitant to go any further, feeling as though he interrupted an intimate moment. But Calariel motioned him over, kissed Legolas on the cheek and smiled.

“I will go and find Eowyn. I’m sure there is something I could be doing to help with the preparations for tomorrow,” she said.

“You don’t have to go on my account,” Eomer said politely.

Calariel stood and laid a hand on Eomer’s forearm. “You two need a moment alone. You do not get to see each other often.” With that she entered the grand hall, leaving Legolas and Eomer on their own.

“Come then,” Eomer said, “We’ll take a walk. I could use a change of scenery. I’ve been cooped up inside for much too long meeting with Béma knows who while preparing for this wedding. It would have been much easier to run away and marry in seclusion,” he complained.

“Ai, but you are the King and the people want their ceremony. It’s not every day that their ruler marries,” Legolas said as they descended the stairs and followed the cobbled path that led into the city.

“Yes, well… sometimes it feels like all of this is more for the people than for Lothíriel and I.” Eomer smiled then, at the mention of her name. “I still can’t believe we are to marry.” He shook his head in disbelief. “How is it someone like me caught the attention of such a beautiful woman? I am under her spell, I love her that much.”

Legolas laughed, knowing just what Eomer meant by this, for he felt the same way about Calariel. “We are both blessed to have found our true soul mates.”

They walked along through the bustling city. Legolas took notice of the respect shown to the new King, as every passer-by bowed. Eomer nodded or bowed in answer, and when the traffic let up, he winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “I used to think my uncle rude sometimes, for not bowing in answer to everyone who gave their respect. Now I see he was only trying to save himself from developing a kink in his spine.”

Legolas pointed to the left where the cobbled path led past a row of shops. “There are less people on this particular street. We’ll walk this way then.”

They turned and followed the road for a while, talking about unimportant things just to make conversation, until Eomer finally said what had been on his mind for a while. “So, I must say I was quite surprised when I heard that you declined your right to the crown.”

Legolas shrugged, “No one was more surprised than I was, except perhaps Lord Celeborn, but that is another story for another time. I was ready to take the throne, but my heart was not. I had seen Ithilien, seen the potential, and I knew I could be of greater help there than in Eryn Lasgalen.”

“Faramir can’t say enough good things about the reconstruction. I hope to visit one day … I mean, Lothíriel and I.” Eomer chuckled, “I’m still not used to saying that.”

“Don’t worry,” Legolas said, “The women will never let you forget.”

“Forget what?” Eowyn asked, surprising them when she came up from behind, an arm thrown around each of them.

Legolas smiled, always glad to see her. Eomer was not so overjoyed, enjoying his private time with Legolas. The King looked over his shoulder at his sister. “Why aren’t you with the women, cooing and swooning over things?”

“Am I not allowed a moment with my brothers?” she said.

Legolas’ heart swelled with pride as she called him such. After all, it was true to a degree. They were as close as siblings despite their differences. “You are always welcomed, sweet Eowyn,” he smiled.

The conversation turned to weddings and children, and Eomer wished his sister would go on her way back to the women, where such things were more readily welcomed. Then she started asking Legolas about him and Calariel, and why they hadn’t started their own family yet. Eomer had finally had enough and said as much.

“I’ll put this as nicely as I can, dear sister, but must you be so… meddlesome? Do you do this to the poor elf in Ithilien? If so, no wonder he has not got Calariel with child yet. No man … or elf … needs that kind of pressure. Why must you women be so concerned with this all the time?” Eomer was irritated to a personal degree.

Legolas noticed this too. “Seems as though I am not the only one being pestered.”

Eomer tried to avoid them, but Eowyn and Legolas had stopped walking and were waiting for an explanation. The King sighed deeply and clarified in a whispered voice. “Lothíriel talks of children and starting our family right away, but I do not wish it.”

Eowyn suddenly and without warning, elbowed her brother in the ribs, making him jerk sideways. “What do you mean, you do not wish to have children?” she berated.

“Ow!” he moaned, rubbing his side. “Of course I want children. I just don’t want them right now. I want to enjoy having my wife to myself for a while before I must share her with our offspring.”

Eowyn’s hands flew to her hips as she glared at Eomer. “Offspring?” she nearly yelled. “You make it sound as if you were raising a litter of puppies. Is that how you see it? Do you not know what a special moment it is for your wife when she tells you she’s having another baby?”

Eomer and Legolas glanced at each other, and then at Eowyn. Eomer crossed his arms, feeling that he was finally getting to the bottom of the conversation. He arched a brow, and Eowyn made herself look sheepish and vulnerable. “You said ‘another baby’, but as far as I know, Lothíriel has no child, unless there is something I have not been told.”

“I think you would remember the birth of your child,” Legolas said, taking his friend’s side. “Eowyn?”

Trapped by her own words, Eowyn gave in and explained with a heavy sigh and a roll of her eyes. “Alright, I haven’t told anyone, not even Faramir, but… I’m with child again.”

A smile spread on Legolas’ face. “But this is wonderful news. Why haven’t you spoken of it before now?”

“I wasn’t sure until recently, and it’s bad luck to the baby to say anything too soon,” she admitted.

“Well, for Béma’s sake, do not tell Lothíriel. That’s all I need is for her to catch word of another woman with child, and we’ll be in the same dilemma on our wedding night,” Eomer complained.

“Dilemma?” Eowyn chided, but before she could injure her brother again, Legolas interrupted.

“So, why have you not told Faramir? I can understand not telling others of your news, but your husband surely should know.”

“I … I was going to tell him, but I heard him talking to someone. He said now that Elboron is a little older, he would finally have a bit more time to himself. I fear he will not be as overjoyed about the new child,” she said, worry edging her words.

This was exactly the reason why Eomer did not want children right away. Eowyn and Faramir had been successful on their wedding night, and nine months into the marriage, they welcomed their son into the world. Eomer had always thought it was too fast, that a couple should have time to themselves for a while before they must move into the important and time consuming stage of parenthood. He did not voice this to his sister though. Instead, he smiled warmly, and gently rubbed her arm. “I am sure Faramir will be happy to hear that your carry his child. He is a good man and he loves you. He loves Elboron too, and now your son will have a brother or sister to play with. Do not fear, Eowyn. All will be well. Men say things they do not mean sometimes, just to fit in with those they are around.”

Eowyn smiled, concern disappearing from her face replaced with confidence. She kissed Eomer on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, and he nodded in answer. She quickly turned back into her usual intrusive self and asked, “So, where are you two going?”

They hadn’t discussed where they were going, but Eomer clearly wanted to return to the solitude of just him and Legolas without Eowyn. The moment of brotherly love had passed and was replaced with sibling rivalry. “We’re going somewhere where someone in your condition should not be going. Shouldn’t you be lying in bed or something? You know, where you are close to your maid servant, just in case?”

Eowyn rolled her eyes again. “I am not diseased, nor am I lame. I’m pregnant. So just stop your complaining, dear brother,” she responded.

Seeing a need to intervene before they started arguing again, Legolas made a suggestion that neither one would refuse. “I have not been to the barrows yet. Perhaps it is time to pay them a visit.”

Eomer and Eowyn agreed, and they turned in that direction. As they walked along and passed certain places, memories surged forward, and Legolas, Eomer and Eowyn reminisced about the days of their youth. Théodred was a part of every story, and they realized what an important influence he was to them, and just how much they missed their cousin and friend.

They reached the burial grounds and stood at the foot of Théodred’s crypt. Legolas sighed as he looked down upon the green mound. Tiny white flowers were just springing up on the vines. Simbelmynë grew upon the burial mounds, most recently taking root to Théodred’s grave. Legolas noticed that only grass grew upon Théoden’s place, for the king had not been there long. It would be a couple more years before the flowering vine would begin covering it. This brought to mind just how long it had been since Théodred died, and all that had happened since then.

“I wish he were here with us,” Eowyn said, her voice sounding choked as she held back tears.

“We all wish that,” Legolas said. Then turning to Eomer he asked, “Do you come here often?”

Eomer nodded, “I come when I need time to sort things out in my mind. It helps, I think, speaking to the dead.”

“I did the same thing when I visited my father’s tomb in Eryn Lasgalen,” Legolas admitted.

“I think they hear us and help us in ways we do not know or recognize,” Eomer said.

They spent what seemed like a long time at the barrows, each one silent within their own mind. Then, Eomer cupped a hand on Legolas’ shoulder. “I should get back. I’m sure someone will be in a frantic search looking for me.”

“I’ll come with you,” Eowyn said. She kissed Legolas on the cheek. “Take your time, and when you’re done, come to the mead hall. There is a celebration for the men tonight. The women will be in the King’s hall.”

Legolas nodded and smiled to his friends. He watched them head back up the path that led to a gate into the city. Once they were gone, he turned back to the green mound. He said a silent prayer in Sindarin and in Quenya before he relaxed and spoke to the spirit of his friend, Théodred.

“There are so many things I wish you could be here to see. Your cousins, for one. They are happy and in love. Eomer is an uncle now. Eowyn has had a son, Elboron, and she is with child again. Lord Faramir is such a good father and husband. He’s a worthy man to be sure, and no less than Eowyn deserves. Their fates were intertwined in a way that we will never know. Their love developed through the harshest of times. I have no doubt that it is true and everlasting.

“And Eomer, ah, he has changed so you would hardly recognize him. You would be so proud of the man he has become. The people love him also. He is a great king to Rohan, honest and fair like your father was. Right now, he is a man madly in love.” Legolas laughed and smiled, “And with a woman of elvish decent, no less. I can almost hear you jesting with him. And no, their children will not have little pointed ears.”

Legolas knelt on his heels and picked one of the flowers, twirling it in his fingers. “Life seems to be blossoming all around. There is light in the world again. People celebrate the new age, bringing with it new hope for a new generation. Mirkwood is now Eryn Lasgalen, and it is bursting with new growth. I think I shall return there some day, but not to take up the crown. Though it is my begetting place, my soul never really belonged there, but perhaps there will be a king upon my father’s throne someday.”

Legolas stopped briefly and smiled. “I have not spoken to anyone about this, and with all the recent talk, I have kept extra silent. Calariel thinks that I do not know yet, but I have seen it in her eyes and in her smile, in the way she just is, and there is not a doubt in my mind that she carries our child. No longer will I be the last wood elf. There’s no explanation for the pure joy I feel knowing this. It is very early on, but before we left Ithilien, we spent a whole evening . . . Well, let’s just say that I’d bet my bow on it. I think she is planning on telling me after Eomer’s wedding, so I’ll not say anything that will spoil her special moment.”

The thought of the birth of children and the rebirth of lands made Legolas slip into a somber moment. There was one bloodline that would not continue on, and it saddened his heart. “You should be here, Théo. You should not have died so soon. As it is, humans live life so quick. To know yours is already over tears at my very soul. I miss you, Brother. Eomer misses you. And with all the good things that are happening right now, there is still a part of us that feels incomplete without you here to share it. Just know that you are with us in our thoughts, and in our hearts.”

Legolas plucked a white flower from the vine upon Théodred’s tomb, and took it to Théoden’s barrow. He gently kissed the pedals and laid it upon the old king’s tomb. “At least I have some comfort in knowing that your son is at your side once more. Your words come to me often, still guiding me in times of need. Thank you for all that you taught me, for all that you gave me. You are never far from my thoughts, King Théoden … my King.”

Calariel silently appeared next to her husband, catching his hand and wrapping her fingers in his. “I wish I could have met Théodred. I know how important he was to you.”

“You would have liked him,” he said. Legolas smiled as he remembered some memory. “There was a time when not with a heard of wild Mearas could you have separated Eomer, Théodred and me. Those were some of the best times of my youth.”

“Like the time the three of you snuck into the shield maiden camp?” Calariel said, taking Legolas by surprise.

“And how would you—”

“Eowyn,” Calariel laughed, interrupting him.

“I should have known.” Legolas remained silent, his mind conjuring up the events of that distant night. “I’m afraid to ask what other stories she has shared with you.”

“Oh, not many,” she teased. “More of Eomer than of you.”

“Mmm,” he said, cynically. Then he kissed her, needing to feel her warm flesh and know she was really there. Visiting the barrows was emotionally exhausting. Talking to spirits made him feel invisible in some odd way, as though he were partly exposed to Théodred’s strange ethereal world, and Calariel was his anchor. “Let’s get back inside,” he said, a chill running up his spine, as though an icy hand reached out and touched him.

The path that led back to the gate was on an incline, and when they reached the city again, Legolas stopped and looked back at the two long rows of barrows. Suddenly, his immortality seemed like a burden, and he envisioned more mounds and more Simbelmynë vines flowering upon them. He knew that one day, it would be Eomer resting here alongside Théodred and Théoden. And after that would lie Eomer’s son and grandsons, and so on. Yet, Legolas would go on, growing wiser and older, and remaining visually youthful. Perhaps this was part of the reason that the elves sailed away from here. It must be difficult to watch generations grow and die, while never changing themselves. Perhaps they had seen this, and the calling of the Valar saved them from their sorrow. But what would happen if he never felt the call? Calariel had told him he was bound to the race of Men, to Middle-earth. How true was that statement, he wondered?

Legolas couldn’t explain the rush of anxiety that surged through him at that moment, while weighing the choice that would one day come to him. Calariel sensed this too, and she wrapped her arm around his.

“What’s wrong, my love?” she asked.

Staring out into the distance, Legolas asked, “Do you think we’ll be happy across the sea, when the time comes for us to sail?”

“We will because we shall want to go there,” she answered.

“But what if I never feel the pull or hear the calling?”

“You will know, Laiqalassë. When the time comes, you will know.”

He turned to her, worry and concern prominent on his brow. “You will know, but I fear I will not. Something you said makes me think that day might not come. You said I was bound to them, to Men. I believe that now. Since we settled in Ithilien, the need to stay has never been stronger. I can envision myself watching over Eowyn and Faramir, and when they have passed from this world, I feel drawn to watch over their children, even when they are grown and have families of their own. Then I look out over these barrows, and I know I can only watch over them for a short period of time. But the generations of people, the blood that they share and pass from one individual to another… that is eternal. So, how will I let go?”

“This is all new to you, Legolas, and in time you will come to understand it better. But in case you worry, know that I will always be your mainstay. I will be your calling. I will be your longing. And if you do not hear the summons of the Grey Havens, or if you are deaf to the song of the Undying Lands, just know that my voice will guide you, and my soul will summon you.” Calariel had thought about this too. Being Noldo and raised in Lothlórien, sailing to the Undying Lands had been instilled in her. Some day she would have to go, whether Legolas was ready or not.

Feeling better about his future, Legolas smiled and kissed his wife. “You are all the longing that I need.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. Then she looked up at his handsome face. “Legolas, there is something—”

He cut her off by turning her away from him and pulling her against his chest. Then his arms went around her middle, hands coming to rest upon her stomach. He lowered his face to her neck, and laid gentle kisses upon her.

Calariel cocked her head to the side. “You know, don’t you?”

“How could I not?” he breathed against her soft skin.

“And are you happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, holding her tight against him.

“A new generation,” she commented.

“A King for the throne,” he said proudly.

“Or a Queen,” she corrected with a laugh.

“Our legacy,” he smiled. 

At that exact moment, Legolas could feel his father smiling down upon him, and he realized that all the sacrifices his father had made were not in vain. Not just so that Legolas could live, but that King Thranduil’s bloodline would continue on. Perhaps it hadn’t all been about Mirkwood or Eryn Lasgalen. It was knowing that all the hardships were well worth the struggle. It was proving that they could not be destroyed. It was comfort knowing that Legolas would no longer be … the last wood elf.

* * * The End * * *


End file.
